A Dragon in Wolf's Clothing
by Daemon Belaerys
Summary: ABANDONED PENDING COMPLETE REWRITE! I still have all the old chapters if someone want to adopt it. New story will come soon, a lot of differences but some similarities. Really sorry mates.
1. A Prince goes North

**Disclaimer: Nothing you reckognise I mine.**

Jon sighed softly as he placed the sparring sword back on the stacks. His side was still smarting from the hard jab it had received from Ser Rodrick who had caught him in a moment of inattentivenes, _'understandable,'_ Jon thought. He found his thoughts drifting more often than not these days. At almost four-and-ten Jon was almost a man, the spitting image of his father, and five siblings that he cared the world for, even though Sansa, the eldest of his two sisters did not share his affection.

While Jon alone of his father's four sons shared the Stark looks, he did not share the same noble name of his siblings. He was a Snow, a bastard. A living reminder to people that his father had once lain with a woman that was not his wife, and Jon had been the one to pay the price for that particular sin all his life.

For as long as he could remember his father's wife, Lady Catelyn Stark had made it her life's mission to make him miserable for somehow causing her insult by existing. During meals, whether it be a big feast or a normal day to day meal in Winterfell, Jon was shuffled into a corner while his family sat at the high table, even Lord Eddard Stark's hostage, Theon of House Greyjoy, a bloody hostage, kept at Winterfell to ensure that Balon Greyjoy did not come up with new ideas of rebellion against the Crown was allowed to sit at the high table, but not Jon.

He was collecting bruises more often than not, his brother Robb, and Lord Eddard's heir was for the most part Jon's best friend, or used to be at least, but had started to drift away from Jon more and more lately, as he started to prefer the company of Theon Greyjoy. They still spent time together of course, every day they would spend time in the practice yard in Winterfell, and regardless of the fact that Jon was a better swordsman ' _by far,´he thought,_ ' he had to let Robb beat him every day. He could win, he knew that, even Ser Rodrick had said more than once that he had never met someone as gifted with a sword as Jon, and at such a young age even. But, Lady Stark had other ideas of course. She had once observed his and Robb's sparring session, and was incensed when he beat Robb.

Even though it was five years ago, and he had hardened much since then, the following tongue lashing, and resounding slap he had received from the irate Lady stuck with him, that day was the last time he ever beat Robb in the sword ring. He wasn't superior to Robb in all things of course, while he himself was by far the better rider, Robb was far more gifted with the lance, not that Jon had any aspirations for using a lance of course. Lances were for Knights, and there were very few Knights in the North.

Once, Jon had been…content, or nearly so at least with his lot in life. It could be much worse, he got food every day, was allowed to sit in on Robb's lessons with Maester Luwin and had a spacious enough room in Winterfell. While distant and a bit strict Lord Eddard could have simply pushed him onto one of his bannermen or even worse thrown him to the streets to fend for himself instead of taking him in.

But Jon wanted more. Regardless of how many times he implored or once outright begged his father, Lord Stark refused to tell him so much as a whiff of his mother, not her name, if she was alive or dead, he didn't even know the colour of her hair, though he figured he knew the colour of her eyes at least, as no one in the entirety of the Stark family had ever had eyes like Jon, lilac, so dark that when coupled with his hair they seemed almost black, not that it helped Jon any though. He had asked Maester Luwin, and perused countless books on his own as well. Each time he thought he might have found an answer he was disappointed.

Purple eyes were a sign of Valyrian ancestry, for the most part at least according to Luwin. He had thought that perhaps his father had lain with a Celtigar or Velaryon, but there were no females that fit the right age for when Jon had been born, all of them either too old or too young. He had thought he had finally found his answer when he came across a mention of Ashara Dayne, only to have that hope ruthlessly crushed. The last time Ashara Dayne had met a Stark had been at the Tourney of Harrenhall, over a year before Jon was born.

The positive side of Jon's search was that he became much more familiar with Maester Luwin, eagerly absorbing tales of the Citadel and other places of the south. He also found out that hiding himself away in Winterfell's library not only cheered him up somewhat from his usual gloomy thoughts, but also kept him away from Lady Stark, which was a good thing in his book. Maester Luwin himself was also pleased for the company, and even tried to introduce Jon to the harp…tried being the key word, as it became clear after only a few lessons that Jon had a far better talent with the instrument than Luwin had, so that was his life, every day he'd spend hours honing his skills with the sword, becoming almost as good with his left as he was with his right after a nasty fall from his horse broke his arm once, forcing him to practice with his left, he just never stopped training with his left. He'd then spend most of what remained of the day in the library, either pouring over a new book or idly playing the harp as his mind wandered. The only negative side of this according to Luwin was that Jon seemed to have a penchant for sadder, gloomier tunes, and it was a shame, Luwin said that a young man with such promise should be so morose, most often causing Jon to give a slight shrug before often trying out a jauntier tune.

Of course things changed when he was three-and-ten, as Winterfell received visitors. Not an unusual occurrence of course, the unusual thing was that it was the first time that a Prince of Dorne had ever visited the North. The look on his father's face when he was told that Prince Oberyn Martell was riding for Winterfell was always a good way for Jon to have a little chuckle to himself, though he understood in some way at least why his father was surprised. Father had fought on opposite sides in Robert's Rebellion. A rebellion that led to Oberyn's sister and both her children to be brutally murdered by the Lannisters of Casterly Rock in the name of Robert Baratheon, who just so happened to be Lord Eddard Stark's best friend, said rebellion was also the downfall of the Targaryens who had ruled Westeros for almost three hundred years.

It was that visit that had changed Jon's life, or at least the way he looked on things. Due to Prince Oberyn being royalty, Lady Stark had not wasted her opportunity to once again strike out against Jon and promptly barred him from even attending the feast,as in her own words "A bastard has no place in a feast for royalty", easily disregarding the fact that Oberyn had with him four of his own bastard girls.

Thoughts of those girls, the one called Nymeria in particular caused a wellspring of confusing emotions to well up in Jon. With the swords locked away for the night, he had found himself outside, near the godswood playing his harp in solitude when Nymeria had found him. Lost as he was in his own thoughts he had almost jumped in the ear when applause sounded and he had whirled his head around to watch as the older…and quite frankly very attractive Dornish bastard applauding him with a wide smile on her face and suspiciously moist eyes.

Much of that night was still a bit of a haze to Jon, he did remember that he and Nymeria had spent hours together talking, mostly about him and his life as a bastard in the North, while her own stories about Dorne, and also of how her father took her all over Westeros and even a few trips to Essos left Jon almost green with envy, and not for the first time he had wished that he had grown up in Dorne, where bastards seemed to have a much better life.

Of course they did more than talk. Nymeria seemed almost outraged when Jon admitted that he had never gotten even remotely drunk in his life, the most he'd had was two tankards of ale in another feast (there were some perks to sitting as far away from the high table as possible). Nymeria (or Nym as she insisted he call her) had almost dragged him to the alehouse in Wintertown, where she kept plying him (and herself) with goblet after goblet of wine or ale. His first time really drinking it might be, but with the quite larger amount of drink that Nym consumed they sound themselves on eager footing, becoming more and more drunk. He may be bitter about being forced to stay away from the feast, but they had a quite lively party in Wintertown, drinking and eating, Jon even momentarily entertained the drunken residents, playing a few lively songs along with another man who had brought a fiddle with him.

That's where things got more hazy, he didn't know how (or even when) it had happened, but evidently he and Nym must have staggered from Wintertown, back to Winterfell proper, and eventually found their way to the room she had been given for their stay. He had woken up, naked as the day he was born, with an equally naked Nym sprawled on top of him, and only a vague recollection of leaving the tap house.

He had turned stiff as a statue as he tried to remember the rest of the night, but try as he might he could scarcely recall more than a few heated kisses. Horrifyed at the thought of maybe having fathered a bastard (and also somewhat amused and resigned at not even remembering losing his virginity) he had taken the cowards way out, and carefully untagled himself from Nym, picked up his clothes and snuck back to his own rooms in the wee hours of the morning, eventually laying down in his own bed to try and catch some sleep.

For the duration of their stay he had tried as best he could to avoid the Dornish guests, guiltily sneaking glances at Nym when he thought she wasn't looking, not that she seemed to care. Either she didn't remember anything of that night, or she didn't care about the fact that she had given a young bastard boy his first taste of the pleasure a woman could offer. He had one other run in with the Dornish, the dornishman in question being the Prince himself, though no words were spoken. Oberyn Martell had simply come across him the evening before their departure, deep in his cups and returning from the brothel in Wintertown when he had come across Jon playing.

No words were spoken, Jon himself to horrifyed (and nervous) at being caught off guard by the Dornish Prince, while Prince Oberyn himself had hurried away, looking like he had seen a ghost. They left the next day, apparently heading to White Harbour to take a ship to the Jade Sea, little did Jon know that it would not be the last time he would meet the Prince of Dorne…

 **POV: Switch. Oberyn Martell.**

As they neared Winterfell for the second time in a bit more than a year he was forced to yet again try to calm himself. While Oberyn could safely say that he held no love for the Starks he wouldn't say that he hated them either. True, it was that fool Brandon who went traipsing off to King's Landing to get himself killed, that had essentially caused the death of Elia, but he also knew that he would have done the same had the situation been reversed, and Elia was the one who had found herself taken by a Prince. Eddard Stark was actually a man that Oberyn respected, not only for his skills as a soldier (more than one man had found himself dead due to the Quite Wolf's rage) but also for the fact that out of all the Lords who had fought against the Targaryens Eddard Stark was alone in having condemned the brutal actions of the Sack of King's Landing at Tywin Lannister's hand.

Before every single one of the rebel Lords he had laid into the newly crowned King Robert, Tywin Lannister and Tywin's mad dogs like no one had probably ever done before. Robert the fat fuck had however not cared at all at the accusations and demands for justice made by Eddard Stark, instead he had banished him and the northern Lords from the city and sent them to break the siege of Storm's End. For that he would always have Oberyn's respect and gratitude, not that Eddard's rage and disgust with Robert and the Lannisters were any help to Elia, but now at least he had the opportunity for vengeance.

Four-and-ten years his brother Doran had cautioned patience as he made his plans and spun his webs, but Oberyin was not patient. His blood ran as hot as the sands of Dorne, always had, and always would. His temper had been truly tested a few moons after their party had left Winterfell. His secend eldest daughter Nymeria had taken ill, oft times vomiting and feeling lethargic. At first he thought it might have been sea sickness, she had suffered from such before after all, but as her sickness continued after they had returned to land he had started to suspect other things, and when his daughter had suddenly (to her shock) concluded that she had not bled for over two moons the answer was quite clear.

He had raged, raved and ranted for a good hour at whoever had dared defile his daughter, before his temper stilled, helped along by the fact that his other daughters, Obara, Tyene and Sarella were busy smirking, laughing and in general making japes at Nymeria's expense. He had dug for information of course. At first Nymeria had denied taking any lovers on their trip, had she done so she would have taken moon tea, and he did believe her…if not for the fact that she was undeniably with child, the truth came out eventually however as his daughter focused, and eventually remembered a few moments of the first night they had spent in Winterfell, including the fact that she had spent hours drinking with Lord Stark's bastard, and that she had fucked him raw, that last statement causing his girls to snort with laughter while he himself closed his eyes briefly and take a few deep breaths.

Their trip had been stopped short after that, Nymeria wanting to give birth in Dorne, and Oberyn himself more comfortable of the thought of his daughter having the best care possible for the birth of his first grandchild.

The return to Dorne had been good enough he supposed, not much different from the other times he returned from one of his trips, if not a bit different as both his niece Arianne and his lover Ellaria had both burst into peals of laughter at the sight of Nymeria whose stomach was starting to swell at that point, and they didn't lay off her either, doing their part to needle her at opportune times with bad japes.

Eventually the time came for the birthing and he had paced nervously outside Nymeria's rooms in the Water Garden's as his daughter screamed to the heavens as she brought his grandchild into the world, thankfully it was over relatively soon, the birthing taking a whole nine hours, which was quite a bit less than his daughters Elia and Obella who had both taken almost a full day to come into the world. Eventually the doors to his daughter's room had been opened and he had been greeted by not only the cries of the newborn babe, but also the shocked faces of his other daughters and Ellaria, and the cause of the look was soon made clear as he was handed the squealing babe by his daughter.

In the face of the babe were a pair of dark lilac eyes, and what's more, the baby boy had a full tuft of silvery blonde hair crowning his head, and in that terrifying moment everything clicked for Oberyn as he thought on Eddard Stark's 'bastard'. The melancholic look that adorned the boy's face, the way he handled a sword, not just with his right but also his left hand, the skill with the harp, the chin and cheekbones, the lean stature of the boy, so unlike the more stocky build of his 'father' and 'brothers', even the soft way he spoke…all of it hidden beneath a slightly long face and dark almost coal black hair, a cleverly disguised dragon in a wolf's clothing, and he barely managed to restrain himself from laughing at the absurdity of it all.

One thing was for sure, as soon as his daughter had recovered they would ride North, and when presented with undeniable proof honourable Lord Eddard Stark would provide answers…

 **AN:**

 **A 'what if' story that just wouldn't leave me alone. The idea of Oberyn Martell traveling to the North isn't that farfetched, he is after all a well travelled man, and so it just balled on from there, and after the quite awesome last episode of S6 I just had to do it.**

 **Hope you like it, and feel free to leave a review.**


	2. Son of the Dragon

**Disclaimer. Nothing you recognise is mine, if it were I'd be a very rich man.**

 **Winterfell 297 AC:**

Jon snarled slightly as he ducked under a sword swing from Jory Cassel the Captain of the Guard in Winterfell. Pivoting slightly to the right he avoided a strike from his second opponent, while simultaneously swapping his sword over to his left hand. A hard jab into old Harwyn's chest sent the older man wheezing to the ground. Not letting up at all Jon threw his sword into the air while bending backwards, narrowly avoiding Jory's sword from ringing his head like a bell. Kicing out with his right foot, he found his mark on Jory's left knee, causing the Captain to stumble. Sensing the strike from his last opponent, Jon lashed out with his arm, catching the blade with a slight grunt on his vambrace, skilfully deflecting it while catching his sword. A quick strike to the guardsman's nose with the pommel, left the guard on the ground, holding his nose while uttering words that would leave Lady Stark insensate with rage had any of _her_ children heard it. Giving the sparring sword a last twirl he let it rest at Jory's throat.

"By the Gods lad, what's gotten into you today?" Jory's uncle, Ser Rodrick Cassel and Master-At-Arms of Winterfell asked while appraising them.

"Nothing," Jon said sullenly as he extended a hand to old Harwyn who accepted the helping hand.

"Really?" Rodrick said sceptically as he raised an eyebrow. "Because I've seen ya fight since ye were a wee boy of five Snow, and I've seen yeh angry before, but nothing like this," he finished as he swept his arm about the practice yard, causing Jon to wince slightly in shame.

The bout against Jory, Harwyn and the last guard, was only the last spar of many he'd had this day, and looking at some of the men he felt a slight stab of guilt well up in him. More than one of the men were sporting bruises, if not outright cuts and even a broken nose or three.

"I apologize…and thank you for letting me get it out," Jon told the small crowd, most of them just shrugging or even giving him a small smile.

A bastard he may be, but he was still the Lord's son, and with the exception of Jory and Rodrick was considered to be 'above' the rest, even though by law he was of no higher statue than any of the smallfolk in the realm.

And therein lay the reason for his apparent 'rage' this day, scratch that, the last months. Life had gone on as much as it had before Prince Oberyn had visited Winterfell, except that after the night he could scarcely remember with Lady Nym he had given into temptation once, or twice by visiting the brothel in Wintertown, only to be caught sneaking out by Lady Stark who had apparently chosen THAT exact day to take her daughters out for a ride.

He'd had to endure an endless stream of words about how useless, dishonourable and wretched he was all the way back to Winterfell, cheeks burning with shame as Sansa seemed to hang on to her mother's every word, what little esteem or love she held for Jon disappearing more and more with every word, while Arya, the blessed girl seemed half confused and more and more outraged at how her mother treated him.

Of course it didn't stop there. Lady Stark had marched him straight up to his father, and started the haranguing all over again, while demanding his father to ' _do something about the bastard,_ '. The suggestions were many, ranging from throwing him to the streets, shipping him to the wall, or even providing him with a small pouch of coins and then sending him on the next ship to Essos. Lord Stark had let her rant until she was finished and then he gave Jon the customary cold look of disappointment that Jon had received more than once in his life, often in conjunction for whatever scheme Arya had come up with (and he subsequently taken the blame for), or whenever he tried to ask about his mother. The situation was made all the worse by the muffled sniggering outside the solar which could only belong to Robb and Theon.

"Jon," his father said. "You should not dishonour yourself by laying with a woman outside of marriage. You are young yet, and there will be time enough for that when you are older".

At that point something had snapped in Jon. The combination of an hour's worth of Lady Stark harassing and denigrating him, accompanied by Robb and Theon both laughing at his misfortune, and last but certainly not least his own father's very hypocritical statement made Jon see red and the words were out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I guess you would know wouldn't you _father_ ," Jon spat, causing His father, lady Stark and Maester Luwin's eyes to widen in shock. "I suppose that would me more like you if I got my own whoreson", Jon finished.

He barely had time to widen his eyes at what he had said before he fell to the floor with a strangled curse as his face burned with pain, and standing above him with an outstretched hand and rage in his eyes stood Eddard Stark. His own father had struck him, that had certainly never happened before. Feeling tears of pain as well as shame mount in his eyes, Jon rose stiffly and marched out of the room, only to come across Theon and Robb. Robb looked slightly shocked at least, no doubt the strike their father had given him had been heard through the door, while Theon was grinning broadly, and his eyes were crowing with delight.

"So the little bastard tried to wet his co-AARGH!"

Theon never got to finish his insult as Jon drove his fist, first into Theon's face, hard enough to break the nose, and from the lacerations on his hand (as well as the chipped tooth stuck in the flesh between his knuckles) knocked out at least one tooth. His left fist was driven into the Greyjoy's belly, causing him to lose his breath as the powerful punch lifted him off the floor. A third punch sent him to the floor where Jon almost gleefully stomped his foot hard, right onto Theon's wedding tackle, causing the Greyjoy to give out one high pitched scream of pain before his eyes rolled back into his head in a dead faint, and without even looking at Robb, and completely ignoring the outraged questions made by his father and Lady Stark he'd stormed off to his room.

He had calmed down eventually, locked in his room as he was, while idly strumming on his harp while his voice sang softly. He didn't know how long he sat there by himself, playing while his mind ran a hundred leagues a minute. He would be punished for what he had done to Theon, he knew that. And no matter how well he could explain how Theon had acted towards him (and for how long) Theon was highborn, on paper at least he was a ward or fosterling to House Stark, and no bastard had leave to lay his hands on the son of a Lord, particularly not the last son and heir of a Lord Paramount.

His thoughts were broken however as the door to his room swung open with a bang, and there stood his father. Eddard Stark's face was ashen and his eyes were wide open as if he'd seen a ghost and his hands even trembled slightly, before his father's usual stern look was back in his face.

"I did not know you played the harp Jon", his father said as he closed the door and took a seat.

That was at the same time a surprise and also unsurprising. He only played for Maester Luwin or by himself when he was alone, often outside the walls of Winterfell or in the shambling ruins of the broken tower, on the rare occasion that he played for others, he'd wear either a hooded cloak, or a scarf wrapped about his face and head. "Maester Luwin taught me a bit when I was nine," Jon said softly.

His father nodded slightly, as if his mind was somewhere else. "You enjoy playing the harp boy?" He asked, causing a melancholic smile to sneak across Jon's face, unknowingly causing a stab of pain and remembrance to shoot through Eddard Stark, unknowingly to Jon at least.

"Catelyn want you out of Winterfell," while not unexpected, those words still sent a lance of fear up Jon's spine.

"When-when will I be leaving then?" Jon asked, trying as best he could to keep his voice steady and eyes dry.

"You won't," his father said, causing Jon to look up in shock, "But you won't be keeping this, that is your punishment", father said as he took the harp out of Jon's suddenly numb hands. "You're not to play the harp until I give you my leave to do so, do you understand?"

Jon was at a loss for words. There were precious few things he enjoyed (or was allowed for that matter) and the harp was by far his most favourite, and yet, faced with the prospect of either going north to The Wall or begging in the streets, losing his harp was the best choice. So he'd nodded once to his father who stood up and walked out, closing the door behind him and leaving Jon to his thoughts.

Since then Jon's life had seemed worse than ever. At first he had been confined to his rooms until he offered an apology to Theon, though his father did relent on that at least after more than an entire month where Jon did not speak a single word to anyone (personally Jon suspected Arya of leaning/badgering to their father until he relented). That his father had spoken to Lady Catelyn about Jon's harp (and the decision to remove it) became abundantly clear as less than a week after Jon's harp was taken from him, Lady Stark had decided that her children would be introduced to the higher arts and had acquired a teacher for Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Theon.

While Jon suspected that Lady Stark had forced/threatened Robb, Arya and Bran into the lessons, Sansa had eagerly joined in (regardless of the fact that she was even worse with the harp than her…less eager siblings, she did have a lovely voice though). Theon, while Jon doubted the Greyjoy had any interest what so ever in music, he also knew that Theon would grab any opportunity to bother Jon with both hands.

As a result, Jon was subjected to over a month of horrible playing as the Stark children and the Greyjoy 'guest' tried to learn the instrument, almost reducing Jon to tears. Not only at how horrible it was to listen to music by that lovely instrument being butchered so, but also that he could not participate, and he found his fingers often moving unconsciously by their own accord, playing tunes that only he could hear.

Truth be told, Jon was almost ready to cave and offer the blasted Kraken an apology just to get out when his father permitted him to wander about again. So with no more harp, and wanting to stay as far away from the rooms in Winterfell where his siblings had their lessons, Jon spent a lot more time in the training yard instead, or even with the various guardsmen, trying to muscle his way in to share in their duties a bit, far better to stay active outdoors than to sit inside and listen to the torture of his siblings' poor attempts at learning the harp.

That was four moons ago, it had been a bit over a year since Prince Oberyn had visited Winterfell. At least a new joy had been introduced in his life. Just a little more than a week earlier they had found a litter of direwolf pups. Their mother had been found with a broken stag antler lodged in her throat (a bad omen that, according to Jory). At first Jon had resigned himself to _yet again_ be the worthless bastard who had to stand to the side while his siblings got everything, but fortunately another pup had been discovered a little away from the others. An albino, with pure white fur and red eyes, and Jon had eagerly claimed it for his own, naming the little pup Ghost, as the little rascal had yet to utter a single sound.

Theon had of course attempted to mock him for receiving the runt of the litter, yet Jon was satisfied to have spied a glimmer of longing in Theon's eyes, and while Ghost may have been the runt of the litter he didn't stay so. The little pup grew fast, and after not even two weeks was as big (if not slightly bigger) than his fellow littermates, with only Robbs pup, Grey Wind being bigger. He took solace in the fact that Ghost was by far the most…obedient of the pups. While Sansa's pup Lady was the calmest (and didn't that name cause the rest of them to roll their eyes), Jon was far more 'in touch' with his own pup. Ghost eagerly (and silently) following him around, the little pup had even started to understand a few commands. So far the little direwolf would sit, roll around, stay, jump and even fetch Jon's boots at command, though he had yet to be able to teach Ghost to stay out of the kitchens (or find out how he could get into it in the first place considering the door was usually closed)

Even more exciting news had been had when they returned to Winterfell after the execution. The King was riding for Winterfell, with much of the court in tow. Jon's elation and excitement lasted only slightly longer than Lady Catelyn delivering the news as she had turned to him and specifically ordered him to stay well clear of anyone in the Royal entourage while they were there. At first his father had seemed about to make an objection, that is until he spotted Theon (and his three missing teeth and slightly crooked nose).

So That was how Jon had found himself in the practice yard, beating down older (and trained) swordsmen for several days in a row. A great ruckus was heard from the courtyard, including several raised voices, but there were too many sounds to make out so Jon dutifully helped Ser Rodrick and the others to put away the equipment, that is until Robb showed up with Theon in tow.

Robb had a half worried-half amused look on his face, while Theon was evidently not capable of words (and barely able to stand, given how he was shaking with mirth). "Father wants to see you in his solar," Robb said.

Feeling trepidation seeping in (Greyjoy shaking like that at his expense could NOT be good) Jon nodded farewell to the others while walking off with Robb and Theon. "What about?" Jon asked.

Theon broke down then, sliding down the wall until he sat on his arse and just laughed while Robb at least tried to hold back his chuckles. "We just received a rather…irate guest. Apparently you are to blame," Robb quipped.

Jon's return died in his throat as they got into the courtyard where he could spot a small wheelhouse, and fifty mounted men, all of them clad in the livery of House Martell of Dorne, and Jon suddenly felt faint, he had a good idea who had come, and an even better idea of WHY they had come. As they walked through the Great Keep towards his father's solar Jon was more aware than ever before of the whispers and pointed looks that followed him. His mind was desperately coming up with and discarding one plan after another, while unhelpfully coming up with nasty possible ends at the Viper's hand for defiling his daughter. There could be no other explanation than Jon defiling his daughter for the Viper to show up in Winterfell angry and demanding for Jon to come, and Jon was almost shaking like a leaf as they came close to his father's solar. At both ends of the corridor stood a pair of guards, making sure that no one else enter, not even Robb was allowed to pass so Jon took the remaining fifty steps towards the door to his father's solar alone. Raising a trembling hand he opened the door and stepped in and closed the door behind him and then cast his gaze about the room.

Maester Luwin (sort of an honorary uncle to Jon over the years) stood in a corner with a slight look of disapproval on his face. Standing next to his father was Lady Catelyn whose red face was twisted in fury and disapproval, and as her eyes locked on Jon disgust was plain to see as well. His father looked at the same time disappointed, disapproving and for some reason worried. Prince Oberyn also stood in the room, both amused and slightly angry, the tall and beautiful dark haired and olive skinned woman next to him was far more amused than not and lastly his eyes met Nym who smiled slightly at him. A small degree of fondness was evident on her face, and as she noticed his no doubt panicked look a sinful smirk that sent shudders up Jon's spine stretched across her face, and in her arms was a small bundle of furs and cloth, and Jon had held Arya, Bran and Rickon enough times to know how a babe sounded ' _my babe,'_ he thought as his mind went curiously blank.

"We meet again Jon 'ah' Snow", Prince Oberyn said, curiously pausing before saying the name Snow somewhat sceptically, causing Lord Stark to narrow his eyes. "We were never formally introduced of course; I was…distracted when I met you last".

"You ran away when you found me playing, My Prince", Jon said, causing his father to jerk his head around to Jon in shock.

"The boy is here Prince Oberyn, say what you need and be done with it," Lord Stark said coldly as he glared at Oberyn who just smirked, not at all fazed by the glare.

"Well I had to come here didn't I?" Oberyn said casually. "My daughter remembers enough from that night to know that the boy does not know who his mother is, so I find myself forced to ask you".

Jon watched in fascination as his father almost growled like the direwolf that his House took as their sigil. "I fail to see why that is any of your business, Prince Oberyn", he said warningly as he took a threatening step towards the Dornish Prince, causing Jon, Lady Stark and Maester Luwin's mouths to drop slightly in shock.

This time Oberyn also narrowed his eyes slightly. "Nevertheless I find that I must know."

"And yet you have come here in vain if that is all you came for," Lord Stark said.

A small smirk stretched across Oberyn's face. "Never matter, it was easy enough to figure out, I just wanted to see if the ' _honourable Lord Stark'_ would for once tell the truth, so shall you tell the boy or shall I?"

"Take care with your words Prince," Lord Stark snarled, "and I thank you not to utter lies to me or mine in my own keep".

Jon was enthralled at the verbal battle, his father was losing more and more of his composure, looking more like a trapped man who knows there is no way out than the Lord and Warden of the North.

"How about you My Lady?" Oberyin questioned as he turned his eyes on Lady Catelyn. "Have your husband shared the truth of the boy's parentage with you?"

"He has not," Lady Catelyn spat as she glared at the Jon and the bundle held in Nymeria's arms. "Some wench from the south I imagine, I cannot say I'm surprised that the boy managed to sire another bastard like himself".

For the first time since entering the room Jon found courage as his temper rose and roared in him like dragonfire. "Hate me all you like _My Lady_!" Jon spat as he stepped beside Nymeria while pointing a shaking finger at his stepmother. "But do not DARE, to speak ill of my child in my presence".

Before anyone could protest Jon's actions, Prince Oberyn took charge again, by gingerly taking the babe from Nymeria's arms, and slowly moved the furs slightly, unveiling the head for all to see, and the reactions were varied.

Luwin's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock as realization swept over his face. Lord Stark closed his eyes and held a hand to his face as if in pain.

Lady Catelyn was the most curious and amusing one. Her face was first shocked and horrified, turned ashen as realization set in, a strange sound, halfway between a gurgle and a mouse being trod on came from her as her eyes watered, and surprising everyone she turned and delivered a resounding slap to her husband's face before she simply sank down and started sobbing.

Jon did not notice any of this as he stepped over to Oberyn and accepted his firstborn with trembling arms. The child had pale skin, a shock of silvery white hair with a slight curl at the ends decorated the head of the babe. Eagerly drinking in every detail Jon noted that the child had his cheekbones and nose, and shared the same dark amethysts as Jon's own eyes.

"What…what," Jon tried, but the words just wouldn't come.

"His name is Aegon, after your brother," Nymeria said as she gave Jon and Aegon, their _son_ a fond look.

Her words caused Lady Catelyn into a renewed series of sobs, while Jon looked confusedly back and forth between his father and Prince Oberyn. "What…do you mean?"

"Jon," Eddard sighed. "Come here," he patted to one of the vacant chairs by his desk. Still somewhat dazed Jon gave his son ' _Aegon_ ' he told himself, back to his mother, before taking a seat.

"I never intended to tell you this, not as long as Robert was alive at least. Your mother…was my sister, Lyanna Stark. You were sired by Prince Rhaegar."

Jon's world was collapsing. His father was not his father, instead he was a royal bastard and apparently if Robert Barathon, the bloody King got even a whiff of suspicion of the truth he would hunt Jon to the end of the earth if he had to.

"So not am I a bastard, but a royal bastard as well…and apparently I've been marked for death since I was born is that it? Or do you have any other news for me? Perhaps any full grown dragons hidden about or that this is a poor joke?"

An embarrassed cough sounded behind Jon, causing him to closes his eyes momentarily before turning them to Oberyn who had a slightly sheepish look on his face. "No dragons, but we still have the dragon egg that Daenerys brought with her when she wed Maron Martell," he said with a small grin.

"Oh…" Jon didn't know how to respond to that.

"And furthermore, you are no bastard," Oberyn said suddenly, causing Jon to look sharply at him and then to his father, _'uncle,'_ he reminded himself.

"There were three Kingsguard, including the Lord Commander guarding you when we found you in Dorne. Your father, grandfather, older brother and sister were all dead at that point…had you been a bastard they would have gone to Queen Rhaella and Prince Viserys on Dragonstone", his uncle said, before a thoughtful look spread across his face. "Your mother named you Jaeherys, after the Conciliator."

It was all too much for Jon, one hammer after the other fell on him. "What…what will I do now? The King," at the word 'King', Oberyn snarled with disgust, "- is coming to Winterfell within a few weeks."

His uncle's eyes widened. "I think you should retire to your room for the night Jo-Jaeherys", his uncle said. "I must speak with Prince Oberyn…tomorrow, I'll take you don to your mother and then…then we will talk about what must be done".

Jon ' _no, Jaeherys,'_ he reminded himself nodded slightly and left the room, accompanied to his surprise by Nymeria who had covered their son's hair again. No words were spoken as they walked in silence, only the slight whimpers of his son broke the silence.

' _Son,'_ he thought. Never once in his life had he imagined that he would be a father, and yet, as he snuck glances at his son and the woman who had brought him to the world, he knew that he would always love him, and if necessary he would lay down his life for him. His…cousins, even Sansa to his surprise were waiting outside his room and all of them seemed eager to see the babe.

"Not tonight, both he and I are tired…you'll get to see him tomorrow," he said as he held up a hand to forestall any arguments, and his cousins sighed sadly, until Robb shooed them away. Giving him a surprise hug Robb too left and he, Nymeria and their son entered his room.

A worn bassinet, the same one he had slept in once perhaps stood in the corner of the room, and he watched fondly and still somewhat amazed as Nymeria kissed their son and whispered softly before placing him down, before shoving him towards the bassinet. He spent a few moments, just staring and taking in every detail of his young son, before leaning down, and placing a soft kiss on his son's brow, and with a whispered goodnight he undressed to his small clothes and laid down under the covers in his bed, carefully embracing his once lover and the mother of his child. Heeding the fact that their son was sleeping a few feet away nothing happened, but he was pleased at least that Nymeria accepted his embrace and wriggled closer to him so that they were spooning together, fingers interlaced. No words were spoken, and none needed to be spoken either, they both knew that nothing was certain from now on, except the fact that they both loved their son, and whatever happened next, they would face it together.

 **AN:**

 **So that is part two. As for the direction I'm going with this, it will be a fair mix of both the show and the books, such as Arianne and Quentyn existing, haven't decided you Aegon/Young Griff yet, but you'll find a poll on my profile about that, and another about any eventual pairing.**

 **Thanks everyone for your reviews, and feel free to give me more of them, since I'm not getting paid for this they are the only reward I get ^^**


	3. Did somebody say dragons?

**Disclaimer: as always nothing you recognize belongs to me.**

 **As for Jon/Jaeherys' name, he will still 'think' of himself as Jon, and will often be called as such as well. His true name isn't exactly the safest to use in Westeros with the current regime.**

 **Warning: small smut scene in the beginning of this chapter.**

Jon let out a deep and silent yawn as he awoke. Aegon had woken them up in the middle of the night and he had blushed slightly as he watched Nym feed their son from her own teats, though with the smirk and chuckle she had given him he didn't think she minded too much that he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from her full teats, thankfully Aegon had been quick enough to fall asleep again, not so much for himself. He had tried of course, as tiredness seeped into his eyes and bones but found himself awake and unable to sleep as his mind contemplated the fact that he was a father, the very fact that the man he had called father his entire life was only his uncle. Had lied to him his entire life.

At some level he could understand the lies, but was that an excuse for how he had been treated? Not even once had he stood up for Jon when Theon or a visiting Lord or even his own wife had made his life miserable. Jon had no doubt that Lord Stark loved him, he knew he did, but he had been very sparing with his praise, preferring for the most part to hold Jon at arm's length and Jon was tired of it. And even worse, now that he knew his parentage he knew that neither he, Nym or their son was safe, if Robert ever found out, he shuddered at the thought. He knew well what had happened to his older brother and sister in King's Landing when the Lannisters sacked the city.

Jon didn't fear for himself so much. He was skilled, _very_ skilled with a sword and with a horse, and could easily live in relative safety in Essos as a Sellsword. He was unsure how well Nym would fare in that life. He knew she had some skill with a dagger (her own words) but no idea just how good that was, and he knew for sure that his infant son was as defenceless as could be, and if there was one thing that Jon was absolutely certain of, it was that his son would not grow up without parents like he himself had done. His son would not be butchered like his siblings just for who their father was, and he was damn well going to make sure of that, _'at any cost,_ ' he thought to himself as he remembered one of the words of wisdom his newly discovered uncle had shared with him. _'There is nothing more important than family my son, never forget, and always do your best to protect them,'_ and protect his son he would, even if he had to amass himself an army and remove every Baratheon and Lannister that lived in Westeros.

Perhaps not what his uncle had in mind when he spoke those words, but unless the Baratheons and Lannisters had suddenly decided to pardon any remaining Targaryen, he didn't see much more of a choice. One thing was for damn sure, he would not spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for assassins sent by the two ruling families of Westeros.

Eventually he did fall asleep of course, sleeping perhaps as much as three hours as it was still somewhat gloomy outside, dawn not quite there yet, still, as he was awake there was little point in trying to go back to sleep, and as he raised his hand to wipe his face he encountered a small problem…more than one actually.

His left arm was decidedly trapped by Nym's weight, the hand itself resting comfortably on her left teat, while his right hand was snuggled between her legs, resting against her somewhat moist womanhood, and lastly his now painfully hard cock had decided that the best thing it could do at the moment was to poke Nym between her cheeks.

Cursing softly to himself he tried to move his right hand first, managing nothing more than to bring out a low moan of approval from Nym as he brushed two of his fingers against a small fleshy nub at the top of her cunt. Once more he tried, and almost succeeded before Nym grasped his hand and held it still.

"I-m so-sorry My Lady," he stammered as he realized that Nym was awake and he had been caught in the act.

"You don't feel sorry," Nym said with a sultry voice. "Actually- "she released his hand inf favour of sneaking her hand behind her to grasp his cock, causing him to gasp in pleasure as she softly stroked him up and down. "You feel plenty eager to me."

While he couldn't see her face, he was certain from the playful tint in her voice that she was grinning like the cat that not only got the mouse, but was given the cream as a reward. Gritting his teeth slightly at her pleasurable ministrations he found his hand moving down to her now thoroughly wet core on its own accord. "What about Aegon?" he whispered, even as his fingers started to massage her nub and lower lips expertly.

"He- " she stopped and gasped for breath as one of his fingers slipped inside her to softly stroke her insides, repeatedly hitting a spot that made her shudder in pleasure. "He still…sleeps…just-oh gods- just be quiet and-fuck don't stop- just be quiet."

She did attempt to continue speaking but Jon's hand was now playing her like he played his harp, reducing the sultry, older Dornishwoman to a quivering wreck of ecstasy. Grunting as his own pleasure built from her now hard and rapid stroking of his cock, he focused on his hands, one of them caressing and even pinching her nipple slightly, while the other one continued to explore and tease her cunt.

Surprising him slightly she quickly let go of his cock and twisted around so that she was kneeling above him. Jon had never before seen such a lovely and sinful sight. Her heaving chest and full teats were flushed red, her long dark tresses, usually in a tight braid was loose and tangled, her finely sculpted face, with all the signs of noble blood was almost glowing in his eyes, while her eyes themselves were smoky with desire. A thin sheen of sweat covered her body and once Jon managed to remove his eyes from her teats he followed the lines of her stomach, flat with just a slight tone of muscles, she'd clearly gone to great lengths to rid herself of any signs of her pregnancy, the few stretchmarks on her side the only evidence of the babe she had carried to term, and oddly arousing to him.

Letting his gaze wander lower he found his cock twitching as he took in the sight of a thin line of hair that lead down to the lips of her womanhood, that alluring pink core, which he had just so recently had his fingers all over, and his cock sheathed in over a year before was more lovely than he could remember. Glistening with her own special juices, a sure sign of her arousal.

Her hand one more grabbed his cock and lined it up with her centre, before she lowered herself at an excruciatingly slow pace, causing both of them to groan with desire. As soon as she got him all the way in she started to rise up again, still keeping that slow pace while closing her eyes slightly in pleasure.

His vision almost disappeared in a red haze as he felt burning lust course through his veins, until all that remained were Nym's smoky half closed eyes, and the feeling if her cunt, still tight despite having given birth rising up and down on his cock, clamping down it like a vice. Growling slightly in the back of his throat he seized her head with his left hand by the back of her neck and forced her lips against his own, eagerly accepting her wet tongue into his mouth. Both of them moaned in desperation as Nym speed up her riding, while their mouths and tongues switched between fiercely duelling with the other to perring each other necks, or cheeks or even ears with kisses, licks and even small nips. Suddenly Nym seized up and bit down on his neck _hard_. for a full ten seconds she twitched like mad as her pleasure coursed through her and made her see stars while Jon held her in a tight grip, himself gritting his teeth as he felt her walls pulse and clamp on him as she rode out her peak.

Nym leant her forehead against his own, breathing heavily, her chest heaving in a delightful way at every breath. "You got better," she murmured while grinning slightly.

"I had practice," Jon quipped in return.

"Oh?"

"Dorne is not the only place in Westeros with pleasure houses," Jon replied. "Speaking of pleasure," he pumped his waist upwards, driving his cock deeper into Nym who gave a mighty shudder at the sensation that was brought on her still very sensitive channel.

A sinful smile that almost made Jon shudder with want stole across Nym's face as she raised herself of his prick, a thin strand of her own juices hung from her lips down to his own glistening member. Scooting backwards she gave him one last smile before she started to lower her head down towards his cock.

Jon mewled and bucked his hips upwards as she stopped her descent a hairsbreadth away from the bulbous head of his cock, smirking at his eagerness she blew softly at the head before ever so slowly her tongue extended from her mouth and slowly started to lick its way down towards his stones. Releasing a breath, he didn't know he had held Jon groaned when her tongue made its journey up to the tip of his cock before suddenly half of his length was enveloped by her mouth. Slowly she started to move her mouth up and down on his cock, hollowing out her cheeks while her tongue slithered all over him.

' _Nym,'_ he whispered as his hands suddenly found themselves lodged in her hair. "I-Ican't-I'm," he lost his words as Nym took that as encouragement enough to take a deep breath and swallow him to the root and Jon grunted as he felt his balls contract while his cock twitched madly as he shot his seed down her throat and into her mouth.

Releasing her head, he fell back against the pillows while gasping for breath and he was rewarded with the sight of seeing Nym visibly swallow whatever was left of his seed in her mouth.

"I think this was a good way to wake up lover," she said with a slight grin as she laid down beside him again, not protesting when he drew her closer into himself, idly entwining their fingers.

"Nym…what…what are we exactly?" Jon asked.

Nym was still for a moment, as if pondering that question herself. "For now, we are parents of that little boy, and lovers of the side," she finished with a laughing tilt to her voice. "Did you…have something else in mind?"

Jon swallowed thickly. "We should be married…Aegon…I don't want him to grow up a bastard like I've done."

"Married!" Nym said with a slight tone of surprise to her voice before turning her head towards him, wearing that particular grin that did sinful things to Jon's imagination. "Who said I'll have you?" she quipped.

Jon gaped for a second in astonishment before he realized she was jesting. "Wench," he mumbled. "And what about Aegon?"

Nym slimed softly again as if to reassure him. "He won't grow up as a bastard like you did. He'll have two parents who love him, who won't despise him or deny him common decency like you've had done to you all your life. Bastards are born of passion lover; we don't despise them for that in Dorne".

Seeing her point, and knowing that a son and two lays, and perhaps seven hours of communication between them was not the best starting point to a marriage Jon resigned himself to bringing up the matter at a later date, their moment of post coital bliss was naturally broken as their son woke up and wailed to the high heavens, clearly demanding milk from his mother's full teats, so the two lovers shared a wry grin before getting up.

"I'll arrange for a bath to be brought up," Jon said as he dressed himself.

Setting out to his uncle's solar he stopped briefly to ask a maid to ensure a tub and hot water be brought to his room before continuing. Lord Stark seemed to be expecting Jon's arrival as he was already dressed and on his way to Jon's rom when he met him, and Jon had to struggle not to laugh at his uncle's dishevelled appearance.

Lord Stark's hair was a wild tangled mess, as if someone had repeatedly (Lord Stark himself most likely) tugged on it in frustration. His eyes were tired (as if he'd had little to no sleep during the night), both his cheeks were flaming red (with the barest imprint of a small feminine hand visible), two scratches that seemed to have come from the nails of a woman was also present at the upper portion of the left side of his face, and he was walking very stiffly, and as Jon spotted the sole pillow and blanket that laid innocently outside the door to his uncle's chambers, Jon was quite certain that Lady Stark had been very displeased and gone so far as to kick her Lord husband out of their marriage bed.

Raising an eyebrow at his uncle's dishevelled appearance he was rewarded by a strong swat about the ears as Lord Stark growled " .Word."

Snorting (which he quickly turned into a cough at Lords Starks quickly narrowing and displeased eyes) Jon nodded his acquiescence. "Where are we going father?" he asked, causing his uncle to nod in approval at Jon continuing the lie he had unknowingly lived all his life.

"To the crypts."

They walked silently down to the crypts, neither of them in the mood for conversation and lost to their own thoughts, before, all too soon they stood before the statue of Lyanna Stark. Both of them looked unsurely at each other, as if not sure of what to say, at least until his uncle sniffed his nose slightly, and took in Jon's dishevelled appearance.

"You could not wait even one day?" he asked, his voice tinged with both amusement and resignation.

Jon tried his best to keep his face calm and look his uncle in the eye, though judging by the heat he could feel in his cheeks he knew that he must be blushing like a tomato.

"No matter," his uncle said suddenly, before leaning down and examining his mother's tomb with searching hands before he found what he was looking for. A sudden 'click' was heard, before the sound of stone grating on stone resounded through the crypt as the statue slid backwards, revealing a small brown and locked chest that he removed, before putting the statue back in its place.

Taking out a small key he briefly opened the chest. "In here, is your mother's marriage cloak, some clothes that your father left behind when he left for the trident…and a dragon egg".

Jon blanched at that, with trembling hands he found the egg, carefully wrapped up in a black cloak, trimmed with gold around the edges, and a large red three-headed dragon in the centre of it. The egg, about the size of a grown man's head was surprisingly heavy, the course scales of the egg glinted in the flickering torchlight in a myriad of colours, predominantly a dark crimson red like blood, with few individual scales in black or dark orange dotted the egg at various locations.

Jon could feel his senses sharpening, time seemed to slow to a crawl, he could almost hear his heart beat in his chest, before with a yell of shock he almost dropped the suddenly warm egg when it started to twitch back and forth. Looking over to his uncle he was far from reassured as Ned Stark stared open mouthed at the twitching egg. A small 'crack' the sounded impossibly loud in the near empty crypt forced Jon to gaze upon the egg again. Cracks were appearing all over it before the shell of the egg flew in all directions and left him holding a small dragon, about the size of a cat in his hands…fascinated as he was at the sight of the beautiful (and soon enough deadly) creature he barely noticed a heavy 'thump' from beside him, and as he turned his head again he let out a snort of amusement as he spied the prone form of his uncle who appeared to have fainted at the sight of a suddenly live dragon beneath Winterfell.

He didn't stay that way for long as Ghost merrily jumped upon his uncle's chest and started to like his face until his uncle came through and pushed the yipping wolf off of him. Standing up his uncle extended a hand to the small dragon (coloured much like its egg) only to quickly withdraw it as the dragon snarled at him. Ghost had no such compunctions and was doing his best to try and crawl up Jon's legs, seemingly coming to the conclusion that the dragon was just a bit too high for him to reach.

Grinning slightly Jon slowly lowered the dragon towards Ghost so that the little direwolf could inspect it. It went better than he'd thought, the dragon hissing warningly every time Ghost closed in for a look or sniff until slowly but surely the dragon accepted the direwolf, and to the surprise of bot Jon and Eddard started to emit a strange keening/purring noise from the back of its throat as Ghost eagerly tried to lick the scaled beast.

"There's something you don't see every day," Jon said suddenly, causing his uncle to nod in agreement.

"But how on earth? I barely held the egg before it hatched," Jon said confusedly.

Eddard appeared to gather his thoughts as he stroked his chin with his right hand. "Rumours has it that your ancestors received an egg while still in the cradle, and they all hatched until after the dance…and that was in King's Landing. _This_ is Winterfell Jon. Dragons are magic and fire made flesh, perhaps the same is needed to wake them up." Taking a long breath his uncle placed his torch on a holder on the wall before continuing. "This is the resting place of the Kings of Winter, for over eight thousand years Winterfell has stood…its very stones are steeped with magic some say, and let us not forget Jon, you have not only the blood of the Dragonlords of Old Valyria, a society that were masters of magic, but you also have the blood of Winter Kings, a line not broken for over eight thousand years, I dare say you have more magic running through our blood than any other alive in Westeros…perhaps that was enough to hatch the dragon."

While he didn't disagree per say, it was certainly a better explanation than anything Jon could come up with, but it did _seem_ very convenient. "So what will happen now?" Jon asked, for all that he might be somewhat bitter at his entire life having been a lie, and for how he had been treated at times, Lord Eddard Stark was still his family, and the only father Jon had ever known.

"I spoke with Prince Oberyn during the night. You will all leave for Castle Black today, from there you'll go to Eastwatch by the Sea and take a ship to the east. You'll be provided with gold but spend it wisely, we do not know when it will be safe for you to either return to Westeros, or for any of us to meet you again".

Jon felt his stomach plummet. He had been prepared, expected even, to leave Winterfell, but hearing it from his uncle made it all official, he, his son and his…lover were now fugitives, their very existence a threat to the stability of the Realm. "Why not just go directly to Eastwatch?" Jon asked suddenly as a thought struck him. Going to Castle Black would be a detour after all.

Eddard smiled slightly. "The Maester there is your great grand-uncle or something. I have nothing more to give you Jon, you'll have the gold I can spare, horses and clothes, a sword and what little remains of your mother and father in this world…if there is anything your uncle Aemon can give you I want you to take it lad, take whatever you are offered if it helps you to stay alive".

Jon could feel his eyes start to turn wet as he flung his arms around his uncle, the dragon hissing with objection as it climbed onto his should to avoid being trapped between the two men. "You may not have sired me…but you will always be my father," Jon said with a trembling voice as he held on to his uncle's broader frame.

"I know lad, I know," his uncle spoke in return as he ruffled his hair slightly. "And you will always be my son in heart…I am proud of you Jon, even though you have a temper sometime."

Jon chuckled weakly as he wiped his eyes, "I hear it goes in both sides of my family," he offered with a small grin, causing his uncle to snort slightly.

"Wait here, I will return soon with a cage for the…dragon, and your father's harp."

"His-his harp?" Jon asked suddenly.

"Aye," Eddard nodded. "He left it with Lyanna, possibly as a remembrance for her, I took it with me…it is still gathering dust inside my solar."

And return he did, and he did not do so alone. Nym and two other girls she introduced as her sisters, Obara the oldest, was a woman with rather plain looks and rat coloured hair with what seemed to be a permanent scowl on her face, and judging by the way she gripped the spear in her hand was also a dangerous woman.

The other girl was the stark opposite of Nym and Obara, while her looks could certainly hold a candle to Nymeria, and most likely capable of producing dozens of suitors (until they learned of her bastardry that is) there was just something…wrong with it. Pale skin, flowing golden locks, and the dark eyes she shared with her siblings and father…but it was her face that gave Jon pause. He had seen many an innocent face before, but Tyene…either she was the Maiden come to life…or more likely an act. _No one_ could have such an innocent and eager face and be the real deal, and his suspicions were proven true as Tyene gave him an impressed grin at having seen through her act.

Whatever the girls or Oberyn intended to say died in their throats as the suddenly lay eyes on the dragon that was perched on Jon's shoulder, that is until Oberyn started laughing.

Ignoring his…almost but not quite good-father, and rather pointedly ignoring the snickers and bawdy suggestions from Nym's sisters as he kissed softly on the lips before taking his son in his arms to look at the babe who gazed right back at him with curious wide open eyes. He lost himself a little in his own world as he made funny faces and sounds like he remembered having done with Arya, Bran and Rickon, that is until a pointed cough brought him back to reality. He blushed slightly as he was met with the amused faces of Prince Oberyn, his uncle Eddard, Obara and Tyene. Nym seemed somewhat amused herself, but there was also some small degree of exasperated fondness there too.

"It is time," his uncle said as he placed down a small cage on the floor before Jon, a cage that could easily be covered by a blanket so that none would be able to see the inside.

A cooing noise from the three girls made Jon look away from his uncle and down to his arms, where his new dragon seemed to have curled itself as if to protect his son, his son who was babbling incoherently at the sight of the exciting creature. Chuckling slightly Jon handed Aegon back to Nym before placing the dragon before the cage. As he suspected, the dragon was much like Ghost, very trusting of him and seemingly knowing what he wanted as it barely glanced at the bars before going inside the cage and it did not even protest as the cage was covered up.

They had nearly reached the entrance to the crypt when Lady Catelyn appeared. If his uncle looked haggard after last night she was almost a nightmare to behold. Her eyes were red and blotchy, a sign that she had been crying. Her hair looked as though it had not seen a comb in months, and from the small traces of soot, strong scent of wax from her, and the dress which was dirty around the knees Jon surmised that she had probably spent the entire night praying in the sept. "May I speak with…may I speak with you Jon?" she asked demurely.

" **Jaeherys!** " Jon barked out, causing the Lady of Winterfell to wince and his uncle to give him a warning look. "Leave us," Jon told the others with a steely voice that brooked no argument. "I will speak with her…alone."

Oberyn, Nym, her sisters and Ellaria seemed pleased, while his uncle looked worried, but did leave Jon alone with Lady Stark.

"Well _My Lady_ , I will soon be out of your hair forever, _just as you've always wanted_ ," while Jon would never consider himself cruel, he had suffered far too much cruelty at Lady Catelyn's hand for that, he did take a perverse satisfaction at seeing how deep his words cut the Lady.

"I wished to apologize for how I've treated you…had I known-… "

Farther than that she didn't get as Jon stopped her in her tracks. " **Had you known!** " he spat. "That you only now apologize as to how you've treated me, after discovering that I am in fact your nephew…You are just like every other fucking andal southerner. You condemn yourself with your own words, only apologizing once you learnt I am not your husband's bastard, **I WAS A BOY!"**

Jon took a deep breath, not feeling an ounce of sympathy for the Lady who now had tears running down her cheeks. "I was a motherless boy whose only crime was being born, and just like my brother and sister I was punished by an andal for a crime not of my making. You pray to your Seven who does nothing but perpetuate guilt, cruelty and vain gloriousness…there was no such concept of bastardry, especially it being a sin before the andals came with steel and cut down the first men for simply having another religion."

Placing a finger under her chin he lifted her head up so that she could look directly into his eyes _'my sire's eyes,'_ he thought. "Four-and-ten years of anguish you owe me before you've earned the right to apologize or ask my forgiveness. .Honour, I've lived those words far better in my short life than you and your father have together…one day perhaps we will meet again, and then we shall see if you have changed your ways. Mayhaps if you have, I can find it in my heart to forgive you," And then he left, leaving his father's wife on her knees and sobbing as her sins (imagined or otherwise) caught up with her.

He was glad that none had witnessed him as he truly let out his frustrations with words for the first time in his life. Nym, Aegon and the two other Sand Snakes were already in the wheelhouse, as was the cage containing his dragon he suspected, while Oberyn and the Dornishmen accompanying them were already mounted. Stopping before his uncle for the last time in gods know how many years Jon gave him a quick hug. "Tell the others goodbye for me will you?"

His uncle nodded and then stepped back to watch as Jon seated himself on the stallion he had been gifted and rode off. "Farewell…Jaeherys of the House Targaryen," Eddard Stark mumbled to himself before going back to the crypts to find his wife…

 ***L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R *L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R *L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R *L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R *L*I*N*E*B*R*E*A*K*E*R**

 **Meanwhile in Essos:**

Dany yawned as she stretched out on a sleeproll next to the small fire that she had manage to build…after five hours of attempting to do so. She was on her second week of freedom now, and freedom did not taste as well as she hoped it would, it was still better than the alternative…she shuddered at the thought of _that_.

In another life Daenerys of House Targaryen would probably be riding with a Dothraki Khalasar, as the new bride of the Khal himself, but things have a way of changing by themselves. Her brother Viserys had _sold_ her to the brutish warrior who didn't even speak a lick of any civilized language. Had she simply been a weak little girl who wanted to please her brother perhaps she'd not have run away…in fact she _was_ such a girl, until the night before her wedding at least.

Viserys had slipped into her room, drunk as he was more and more often, and had proceeded to… _take her_ , several times, silencing her screams of pain and anguish by almost chocking her to death. He had cared not for the fact that a woman (in his own words) was supposed to offer her maidenhood to her Lord husband, no one wanted a sullied bride after all. But of course, _The Dragon_ wanted her for himself, so if he could not have her, he would at least have her maidenhood.

Whatever love she had left for her brother was lost that night, and was replaced by hate. Soon enough the wedding itself had started, just a few leagues outside of Pentos, and she'd been forced to sit next to her… _husband_ , watching as her own wedding feast turned into a mix of a brothel where you didn't pay the whores, and one of the fighting pits from the east she'd heard tales about.

At least the Dothraki were a proud people, she'd give them that, but they were also stupid. As soon as she watched the third Bloodrider keel over as a dead drunk her plan formed. She forced an exiled Hedge Knight from Westeros to translate for her ash she called out her husband and all of his bloodriders as weaklings and questioned their masculinity for not drinking more. It worked better than she'd ever thought. The Dothraki gleefully accepted the challenge, and less killing and fucking took place as everyone were suddenly more interested to prove themselves as a real man before their new Khaleesi. If her husband had the same cares she didn't know, but he matched his men, mug by mug of fermented horse milk, so as not to seem weak in front of his men. The foreign guest also joined in, fearing that to not do so would disappoint their aggressive fellow Dothraki guests, even Magister Illyrio joined in, though he lasted far longer than most, passing out drunk shortly before Drago or Droge, she didn't really care for the name of her…drunken husband.

It was late when she made her move. Most of the guests (dothraki or others) were out as a light, while whoever were not passed out were so drunk that a blind man's testimony would probably be more believable. She'd spent a few hours, selecting a trio of horses, and loading their saddlebags with as much gold as possible, and the three dragon eggs she'd been given as a wedding gift. She then cut loose all of the other horses, mounted her own (with the other two horses tied to hears) and clumsily ridden off towards Pentos. She was lucky enough that even though her own horse tried to run off with her she'd managed (barely) to hold on, though she did feel slightly sick, numb and guilty that her horse had trod upon the head of her now _former_ husband, crushing it like a ripe melon.

She had stopped briefly in Pentos, just quick enough to buy food and after asking around other supplies that would help her to make camp. A last stop at a whorehouse of all things had led to gold changing hands and she walked out again with her hair now coloured coal black, after all no one would look for a _black haired_ Daenerys Targaryen. With her business complete in Pentos she rode north towards Braavos. All her life for almost as long as she could remember she had wanted to go back home to the house with the red door and the lemon tree in the garden. Well, now she had gold, horses, no brother and most importantly of all, no brute of a husband who could not even make himself understood to her, truly life was shaping up for the better, she just hoped Viserys didn't get into _too much_ trouble.

 **AN: SO far on the poll it seems that Dany is in the lead, followed by Nym with a few percent behind, while Marg and Multi are sharing an equal third place. The poll will be taken down on Saturday and a new one regarding Aegon/Young Griff will show up.**

 **Thanks for your reviews everyone…and feel free to give me more.**


	4. In the North

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

 **King's Landing, 297 AC. Varys:**

Varys was angry, no scratch that, he was _furious_. Four and ten years, ever since King's Landing fell he had conspired alongside Illyrio Mopatis to restore the Targaryens and destroy the Lannisters. They both had their reasons of course. Illyrio no doubt thought he had Varys fooled when he brought forth the plan to, if all else failed introduce his own son from his dead wife Serra as 'Aegon VI' who had miraculously been 'smuggled out' of King's Landing during the Sack. Varys knew better of course, he was more than aware of the fact that 'Aegon' was descended from Daemon Blackfyre, Illyrio himself was descended from another pretender, though in his case Illyrio was descended from Daemon's brother Aegor 'Bittersteel'. Thinking on that little morsel of hidden knowledge had given him more than one good chuckle over the years, _'the Blackfyre's never learn,'_ he thought.

No, Varys had only one acceptable outcome, either Daenerys or Viserys taking the throne, there was nothing else he would accept, so he had watched over the two dragons as best he could. Once in a while he would 'discover' their whereabouts and send a few low rate hired knives after them, though not before he dispatched a few far more trusted associates to guide them away in the nick of time, it was the least he could do for his last remaining kin. No one except Aerys knew that Varys' grandfather was Viserys II, his father having been fathered on a whore during the time that Viserys was a hostage in Lys.

Sadly, with how things were going in court he found less and less time to ensure the safety of the two young dragons. Between the Kingslayer's affair with the Queen, Baelish's plots and schemes (which he did his best to sabotage) and Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon's sniffing about, he had lost control of the situation enough that his 'ally' Illyrio managed to snap up the young dragons.

Oh how he'd raged when he learnt that Illyrio had managed to convince Viserys to sell young Daenerys to a Dothraki Khal of all things. Of course that turned out to be a stroke of luck and misfortune at the same time. _Something_ had happened that was sure, but he was still uncertain as to what. Khal Drogo was dead, as was Illyrio, Viserys had been spotted amongst the Dothraki in rags with a slave collar about his neck. Daenerys was nowhere to be found, and Pentos itself was more like a burnt out ruin than a thriving city. The Dothraki had mercilessly sacked the city. Thousands upon thousands had been either killed or enslaved. Illustrious manses had been torn down and the city had been almost emptied of valuables and worst of all, his entire spy network in Pentos had been crippled, and the Dothraki horde which had gladly united to tear into the city to avenge the death of the Khal had since split up into over twenty smaller Khalasars, any one of which could hold Daenerys captive, if the girl wasn't dead or run off…one thing was for sure, if she was in any of the free cities he _would_ find her.

There were other curious events too. Robert had ridden North to no doubt ask Eddard Stark to accept the position of Hand of the King. While that wasn't too curious, rather predictable actually, what was curious however was that Oberyn Martell had ridden north a few weeks in advance of the King, bringing with him his lover and four eldest children, including his almost newborn grandchild. It was curious as to why the Martell would ride north so soon after his last visit, but considering the timing of his grandchild's birth Varys suspected that the babe (how it aggravated him not knowing more about the child) had been fathered by a northerner, and Varys found himself more curious than he should. Perhaps it was nothing, but at the same time, there had been very little said about the bastard babe, no name, no sex or even a basic outline of how the child looked like. Every time the Viper had fathered one of his own children half the realm had known just about everything there was to know within a month or two, including who had mothered the babe and how the babe in question looked like…so why the secrecy, Varys mentally marked the question down for further investigation at a later date.

 **Castle Black. 297 AC, 'Jon Snow':**

Jon gazed about the Courtyard of Castle Black with a certain amount of disgust. He had been excited at first, as the sight of The Wall had first come over the horizon, even more when they spotted Castle Black, but they hadn't spent more than five minutes inside before Jon was angry and disgusted. One glimpse at the 'Honourable Brothers of the Night's Watch', had been more than enough to show him that just about everything he had been told about the Night's Watch in his life was a lie.

Most of the men, including some who had already been 'sworn' into the rangers were, it appeared more green with a weapon in their hands than Jon had been at the age of seven. The grumpy Master-at-Arms of Castle Black, Alliser Thorne looked as if he hadn't smiled in decades as he shouted and even beat the pathetic recruits into submission, trying (in vain it appeared) to teach them how to swing a sword with something resembling a modicum of talent.

A bit of further sleuthing on his part had revealed that out of a hundred men who joined the Watch these days, perhaps five were volunteers, the majority of the recruits nothing more than the dregs from various dungeons about the Realm, who rather take the Black, than to lose an arms for stealing, his cock and balls for raping or the noose for murder, and _this_ was what his uncle… _both_ of them had been trying to make him join. Not overtly of course, but he had been told more than once in how there was ' _Honour in taking the Black,_ ' or about how the Night's Watch didn't look down on bastards, bastards could rise far after all on The Wall. Jon spat in disgust, the only reason for at least his uncle Eddard trying to trick Jon into taking the Black would be for the fact that he would 'technically' be safe from Robert if his parentage ever was revealed, but perhaps his uncle also feared what Jon would do if Jon was to find out for himself. Should Jon decide that he would attempt to take back what his family had lost, then his uncle Eddard would be forced to choose, loyalty to his nephew that he had 'tried' to treat as his own son, or his best friend who happened to be the King.

Not for the first time Jon mentally thanked Oberyn for coming North, and Nym for providing him with his son. Had those two events not happened Jon would probably _have_ joined the Night's Watch, if only to get away from the scorn he faced in Winterfell.

"Greetings Prince Oberyn, what brings you to the Wall?" Asked an old and heavily built man with a greying beard and hair.

"Lord Commander," Oberyn nodded in respect to the old bear, Jeor Mormont. "I've always wanted to see the Wall, and I have a…guest with me who is thinking of perhaps taking his Maester's chain and would like to spend a few minutes with your Maester for another opinion," Oberyn lied smoothly.

If Jeor Mormont doubted Oberyn he showed no sign of it as he assigned a recruit named 'Bryn' to show the way to Maester Aemon's chambers. As soon as the man showed up Jon dismounted and joined Nym near the wheelhouse, picking up the cage that contained his dragon as he did so, and he and Nym followed the watchman into one of the towers until they stood before an old but well maintained door. Bryn knocked twice on the door, "you have guests Maester Aemon", he called out.

"Send them in, send them in," A slightly frail voice answered in return, and Jon and Nym entered, before closing and locking the door behind them.

"And who are you who come to visit me?" asked Maester Aemon. Aemon was an old man, looking close to perhaps a hundred years. bald, wrinkled, shrunken, and blind, but even though his eyes were almost completely white with blindness there was still wisdom in those pale orbs.

Looking about shiftily Jon opened the door just once to check that the corridor was empty before closing the door again to take a seat near the old Maester. "I…I am known as Jon Snow, Maester Aemon," he said as he tried to find the right words.

"Hmm," Aemon hummed as he narrowed his eyes in thoughts. "You say you are known as Jon Snow, then that is not your name?"

"My mother…was Lyanna Stark."

The old Maester took in a quick breath of shock as he raised his trembling hands towards Jon's face, stopping a mere inch away and Jon suddenly understood and leant forward the last inch, closing his eyes as Aemon's fingers traced his face to take in the details.

"You have his cheekbones," he mumbled wondrously.

"Whose?" Jon asked.

"My brother Egg, though you would know him as Aegon V, and you have my father Maekar's ears…how?" he seemed both confused and in wonder at the same time, his plae eyes brimming with unshed tears.

"I have my mother's colouring, the dark hair hides my eyes somewhat," Jon said.

Aemon laughed merrily for a few moments before, to Jon's shock he seized him in a surprisingly strong hug for such an old man. "I assume you must have more of a reason to come here than just to visit and old great grand uncle?" Aemon said as he sat back down in the chair he had been seated in.

"I…I am no longer safe," taking his son from Nym's arms he settled him in Aemon's surprised hands. "My son, Aegon…he does not share my colouring, quite the opposite actually, it wouldn't take anyone who knows our family, and the story of Lyanna Stark's disappearance to divine the truth if they were to look at him".

Aemon who now had tears running down his cheeks at the knowledge of not only Jon being alive, but that he also had a son, who he was currently holding frowned slightly. "And so you have come to ask for my help."

Jon nodded, not even thinking of the fact that Aemon could not see him doing so. "I have been given what gold Lord Stark could spare, but I am still just one man, with a sword, some gold, a…lover and a son who would be butchered just for who his grandfather was…I need any help I can get."

"Hmm," Aemon furrowed his brow in thought, before he handed Jon Aegon back as he stood up and walked stiffly over to an old worn chest. Ruffling around in it he returned with three things, the first he offered was an elaborate key, the hanger itself shaped like the Targaryen dragon, while it was made from black iron. "This is the key to our family's vault in Braavos, our ancestor the Conciliator invested a good portion of the treasury during his reign. There are three keys in total in our family's possession, I was given one when I took the black by my brother Egg, in case we should ever be in dire need of coin…Egg kept the other two, if you're lucky King Robert does not know of the arrangement so there may be some gold left."

The next item was a sword. The pommel was in the shape of a snarling dragon head, with a grip red lacquered grip, just large enough to have two hands on it, the crossguard was in the shape of a dragon's wings, stretching out on either side. Sheathed in a worn, but well maintained black leather scabbard and belt that was marked again with the dragon sigil of House Targaryen. Taking the longsword Jon drew the blade from the scabbard and almost dropped it in shock. The blade was flawless, two thin fullers ran down the length of the blade, the blade itself tapered to a fine point and the blade held a rippling smoky patter that was almost indistinct at how dark the metal was.

"Dark Sister," Aemon said with a small grin. "The blade of Visenya, my grand uncle Brynden left it in my care before he left for someplace north of the Wall."

"And you've kept it hidden here all this time?" Jon asked as he stared in wonder at the legendary blade.

"Aye, Brynden…he had…gifts. He could see things that had yet come to pass, he told me to keep the blade with me until the dragonwolf came for it…you, it can be no other, as you are the only son of a wolf and a dragon that I know of."

Jon swallowed as he sheathed the blade and buckled it at his waist, his old sword and belt was placed in a corner.

"I have one last gift to you child, though I do not know if it will do you any good. It has probably turned to stone a long time ago," Aemon said as he held out a dragon egg. The egg was predominantly dark blue, with swirls of sea green running over it and Jon couldn't help himself, he chuckled, Nym joining in.

"I wouldn't be so sure of that…uncle," Jon said, receiving a smile and nod at calling the man uncle. "I have something you should…feel."

He removed the covering of the cage and gently placed the small dragon in Aemon's lap, causing the old man to go rigid with surprise.

" _How_?" he whispered as his hands shakily took in every detail of the scaled beast.

"I do not know," Jon said with a shrug. "I held the egg and it hatched in my hand, my uncle mentioned something about the magic in Winterfell and in my blood."

Aemon's eyes widened before he started laughing. "Of course, there is magic in the air, both in Winterfell and here on the Wall, and your blood has more magic than most, being a descendant of both the Kings of Winter and the Dragonlords of all. Take the egg, take it," he babbled eagerly and Jon chuckled slightly as he picked up the egg.

Unlike in Winterfell, now that he was ready and aware he felt that he could almost feel the magic in the air. A non-existent wind carried softly about the room, ruffling papers and his hair, and even as his senses sharpened and time seemed to slow he could almost 'hear' the deep thrumming coming from the egg and the air itself, and with a loud 'CRACK' the egg shell blasted away, leaving a small blue dragon with patterns of green on it.

Silence reigned for a few moments before Aemon erupted into a full bellied laugh, just as the door opened and Jon heard a 'Seven Hells'. Snapping his eyes around he spotted old Jeor Mormont standing there with his mouth and eyes wide opened, while standing beside him was Oberyn who seemed at the same time amused and resigned, trust Jon to visit his grand something uncle only to come out of the event with another dragon. Ghost who had sat patiently outside the room eagerly bounded over to the new dragon, and just as in the crypt did not give up until the newborn beast had accepted him, going so far in the end to give the dragon a wet lick and a very human like nod of his head, almost as if saying ' _I'll look after you, that's that.'_

Fortunately, Jeor Mormont was an honourable man, so the explanation had been short, the only point of surprise being Jon's true parentage, though as the man said, ' _I am sworn to take no part in affairs of the Realm, and besides I owe Lord Stark my life several times over, your secret is safe with me,'_

They had stayed only a few moments longer, just long enough for Aemon to be introduced to Nym, and for a second cage to be collected, as the two dragons, while they seemed friendly with each other (Ghost more than eager to 'berate them' with a sharp bump of his nose if they tried to act up, they apparently decided that asking them to share the same cage was far too much. Aemon had given Jon and Nym a last hug as well as a kiss to Aegon's brow and then they'd left for Eastwatch, though Jon wondered what the Sand Snakes were hiding, since ever since they'd left Winterfell they'd given him conspiratorial smirks and giggles. The one time he'd tried to find out what they were up to in the bloody wheelhouse he'd been shouted down (and slapped) and warned that the wheelhouse was _strictly_ for the women, so he'd since given up on discovering what they were up to.

Just like Castle Black, Eastwatch was also filled with nothing more than the dregs of Westeros apparently, and they'd chosen not to linger and headed straight for the dock, and to their fortune they discovered a ship that was going to Braavos while another one was to go south to Dorne and from there to Lys. Oberyn and the Martell soldiers would be going to Dorne, while his former squire, a Knight named Damon Sand, and his daughters would be joining Jon, Nym and Aegon for the trip to Braavos.

Paying the Captain, Jon asked the Captain to wait just long enough for him to take a short inspection of Eastwatch as his uncle Benjen was either there or north of the Wall according to Lord Commander Mormont. He was disappointed however as Benjen had apparently left for Castle Black along the top of the wall a mere hour or so before they arrived so he headed back down to the docked ship where he boarded.

The ladies had apparently already barricaded themselves in their cabin to get out of the cold, so Jon was left alone with Ser Damon to watch as the ship sailed out of the harbour towards open sea, neither man in the mood for conversation, though Jon was confused to note fifty riders in what appeared (from the distance at least) to come riding into the harbour, a good twenty minutes after they left port. Shrugging at the strange happenstance Jon turned his head towards the bow again and watched as the ship sailed out to open waters…

 **Winterfell. 297 AC. Eddard Stark.**

Ned sighed tiredly as he sat down at the desk in his solar. Ever since Oberyn showed up with his grand-nephew things had gone to shit. His wife still refused to speak to him, spending most of her waking hours in the Sept, and he wondered what Jon had spoken to hear as ever since he left Catelyn had seemed shaken…far more shaken than she had seemed when she asked to speak to the boy.

His children were also a challenge. Theon was constantly walking around with a sly grin, and had laughed openly when they learned that Jon had left, and he had barely restrained himself from striking the boy like Jon had done. The memory of Jon beating up the Greyjoy still made the sides of his mouth twitch, he wouldn't do it of course, he had a responsibility to the boy after all, but that moment when Jon had beat up the older lad had been pure Lyanna.

Robb was disappointed, not realizing the friendship he had had and neglected in later years until it was gone. Ned had been disappointed to see how their friendship had deteriorated over the years, but he had stayed out of it, he couldn't force the boys to like each other or spend time with each other as that would only increase the resentment. Robb had spoken to him, in search of comfort, and he'd spent a long time convincing Robb that while they may have grown apart somewhat over the years, they were still brothers, and that Jon would always love him, fortunately Robb accepted the answer.

Sansa…he sighed. Sansa, while not pleased at Jon's departure wasn't particularly bothered by it either, though he was proud that she said that, ' _hopefully Jon can make his own way in the world_ ,' Bran had seemed saddened, and Ned knew that part of the reason was that Jon had always been kind to Bran (being the one that snuck him the most sweets or took the time to teach him archery). Rickon was more confused, not really understand that Jon had left, and even when they told Rickon that Jon had 'gone away' for a time, the boy of three still asked for his older 'brother' every other day or so.

And Arya…Arya was the worst. First she had broken into tears, and spent hours being absolutely inconsolable, fortunately she had been more sad than angry, as he was sure that had she not been so sad she would have leapt on Sansa once she mentioned Jon making his own way. She had then spent a few hours yelling at everyone and then stormed off. For the next days they'd seen neither hide nor hair of Arya, not a new experience as out of all of his children beside Jon, Arya had always been the one to rise before anyone else in the castle, and often ate in the kitchens before running off again (to avoid her lessons or explore the castle, the town or the lands outside the walls). Though after the fourth day he had decided that enough was enough, he'd at first searched for her, failing to find her he'd waited outside her rooms while ordering a few of the guardsmen to continue searching. When the girl didn't show up during the entire night he'd gotten worried.

Questioning the kitchen staff he learnt that Arya had not been seen since the day Oberyn came. They had then turned the castle on its head. A search of her quarters showed that she had packed up some of her clothes, the bracelet and necklace she had received by her grand uncle Brynden the last time he visited Winterfell (that she was only supposed to wear to feasts), and most damning of all, her horse was missing.

He had quickly despatched riders in all directions, and sent out ravens to his bannermen, sadly the ravens that went to Castle Black and the Umbers were already on their way to those locations so he'd had to send riders in that direction. He was almost certain that she had gotten it into her head to follow Jon, and if that was the case they'd find her soon enough…but of course, bad luck when it first starts have a way of compiling itself. Of the five men they had sent north towards the wall only one returned, and he did so with an arrow in his back.

Hearing his story Ned was furious. They had been on Bolton lands when they had discovered Arya's horse, without a saddle or bridle, and had dismounted in order to do a more thorough search when they'd been set upon by bandits. Four of the men had been killed or captured while Harwyn had managed to get away, and his tale made Ned's blood boil. He like the rest of the North had heard rumours about Bolton's bastard of course, but now he had a witness to the fact that it was Bolton's bastard who had led the attack on Ned's personal guards. He had never trusted Roose Bolton and had always kept a sharp eye on the man, and had instructed the Cerwyns, Hornwoods, Umbers and Karstark to do the same and now with definite 'proof' he had called the banners of those respective houses with the exception of the Umbers whose Raven had still to return.

He knew that Robert was perhaps a few days or a week away at most, but if Roose had his daughter he did not have time to wait. Ordering Cat to receive Robert and explain why Ned was away if Robert arrived before his return, Ned had ridden north with three thousand men, joined by another two thousand a day's ride away from the Dreadfort, while the rest of the North was mobilizing and marching towards the Dreadfort as well, if Roose didn't surrender Ned's army would settle in for a siege while they waited for the remaining Northmen to join up, fortunately it had been uneccesary.

Roose had been out hunting when he and his party had almost literally run into Ned's army, and while he had at first tried to run, he had been caught when his horse was shot out from under him. With their Lord in chains, and Ned Stark in a rage with an army at their gates, the garrison in the Dreadfort had opened the gates and let the Warden of the North and his army in through the gates. A thorough search had been done of the castle, and what they found was horrifying. The bastard's rooms still had the corpse of Daryn, a young guardsman, hanging partially flayed on a rack, and while he would never be the same he would live at least. Torrhen and Edwyle however had already died from Ramsay's ministrations and fed to the dogs, a pack of brutal aggressive beasts that were so vicious that after the first one had tried to kill the men who opened its cage made the Northmen kill the rest of them with crossbows through the bars.

No Arya was found though, and no matter how much Ned pressed Roose always answered the same, that to the best of his knowledge Arya Stark had not been seen on his lands, which meant that hopefully the girl had found Jon, instead of being murdered in the woods. The end result was that the Dreadfort's Maester, Master-at-Arms, Captain of the Guards, head of the cooks and the stewards were sent to the wall, while Ned, in his position and authority as Warden of the North, executed both Roose and his bastard Ramsay for breaking the law on flaying in the North, a law that had been in effect for a long time and carried the sentence of death, who would be given the Dreadfort was up for debate, but Ned had a sinking feeling that he would have to disappoint Sansa's southern aspirations unless Arya was found. The Lords of the North, would accept a Stark bride for taking over the Dreadfort, essentially keeping it in the Stark line somewhat, but there would be more grumbling if he were to award it to one of his sons, as the Starks already had 'technical' ownership of Moat Cailin and Sea Dragon Point being some of the more prominent locations, to add another strong castle and all of its lands would make the other Lords feel slighted. They would accept it, but a lot of grumbling and dissatisfaction would be had, so the better choice by far would be to gift it to another house, who would get to start a new line, and with a Stark bride, like had been done before and perhaps would again.

He had ordered the fifty men escorting the prisoners to the Wall to also check for Arya, both at Castle Black and at Eastwatch and report back to him. Robert would just have to wait as Ned took care of matters at the Dreadfort. While the Northern Lords trickled in one after the other, all of them offering their sympathies for Arya's disappearance, and also spitting at the memory of the Boltons and delivering vague hints of sons or nephews that 'might make a fine Lord one day', Ned was busy taking order. Some…intimidating interrogations (Ned was quite pleased that Robb had permitted Grey Wind to join him, in order to sniff down Arya and Nymeria who had most definitely left with her). Few men had the balls to stand up to a growling direwolf, regardless of how ruthless Roose Bolton had been or how sadistic Ramsay's dogs had been.

Ned was disgusted, it appeared that most of the Bolton men at arms had known what their Lord and his bastard were up to over the years, (one of them had even helped the bastard poison Roose trueborn son Domeric). Another eighty men had been found who had not only actively aided with the flaying of the smallfolk, but also participated in rapes around the Bolton lands, and as more and more smallfolk came from their little villages to point fingers and testify, the more Ned wanted to send the entirety of the Bolton men to the wall, but he had stayed his hand somewhat. The eighty most serious offenders had been gelded and shipped to the watch, another ten had been executed, while the remainder of the men in Bolton's former lands would be divided up amongst the other Northern Lords so they could keep an eye on them, various craftsmen and smallfolk would be sent from their own holdings and to the Dreadfort to make up in the sudden drop of population.

Having put most of it into order, Ned had made Lord Halys Hornwood, as the Dreadfort's closest neighbour into the temporary Castellan of the castle. Just as he was ready to head back to Winterfell the fifty men he'd sent to escort the prisoners to the wall and informed him that Arya had not been found, and that they had arrived too late to catch up to Oberyn's party to question the Prince about his daughter, both ships already out in the bay when they came. Ned just hoped that Arya was on one of those ships, as Jon would at least be able to keep her safe until he could manage to get word sent to him, still Catelyn would not be pleased, and Sansa would most likely be heartbroken due to the fact that she would have to marry and live in the North, so it was with heavy heart that Ned and his men rode to Winterfell, most of the Northern Lords deciding to come with while sending their men back home, no point in not meeting with the King now that they were all here (with a few exceptions).

 **Ship on the Narrow Sea, 297 AC, Jon.**

Jon woke suddenly, it was the fifth day on their journey on the sea (the first three had left him hanging over the rail or a bucket for the most part). He'd spent some time with Nym and his son in his cabin, she adamantly refused him entrance to the cabin she shared with her sisters, as apparently it wouldn't be ' _proper'_ and while Jon doubted that to be the reason (considering Nym was anything _but_ proper) he didn't want to make a big deal about it either. HE was a bit surprised that her sisters preferred to stay in their cabin (seasick she said) and he was almost certain that they were spoiling Ghost with treats as he spent a lot of time whimpering and scratching at their door.

The reason to their secrecy became clear however as he walked out onto the deck during the night and discovered that the slight ruckus and growling that had woken him up was Ghost and _Nymeria_ having a mock brawl with each other, and as he suspected the moment he laid eyes on Nymeria, Arya was not too far away, eagerly cheering the two direwolves. The moment Arya's eyes rested on Jon she blanched before an ' _oh shit,'_ expression spread across her face, before she tried to deliver a casual greeting in the form of "hi Jon," complete with a trembling smile as her mind went over all the ways she was fucked.

While he was sorely tempted to smack his forehead in resignation, he knew that would make her win so instead he let a wolf like grin appear on his face as he stalked over to her, mentally chuckling at how she started to look about for an escape. Stopping right before her he seized her by the ear and lifted her slightly causing her to yelp. "So, little sister…mind telling me what you are doing here?"

 **AN:**

 **As you can see we are moving further into AU territory. I have deliberately not mentioned Faegon's fate yet (beside him being a Blackfyre) as the result will be decided upon once I close the poll on Sunday.**

 **When it comes to Varys, I've read a few theories about how he may be secretly a Targaryen or Blackfyre, so I chose to do my own spin on it.**

 **As for the North, I think Ned would have been cautious of Roose Bolton simply for the fact that he IS a Bolton, and when someone tells him that they attacked and/or killed his men (and with his daughter missing) he would take action. And finding out just what Ramsay has been up to and Roose not doing anything about it (lets face it, Roose would know what Ramsay was and did) he would use the opportunity to remove the Boltons from power.**

 **The result of the poll for the pairing was:**

 **Dany at 20%**

' **Multi' at 17%**

 **Marg at 16%**

 **And Nym at 14%**

 **SO the official pairing will most likely be a marriage between Jon/Dany/Marg whith Jon keeping Nym 'on the side', which means that Aegon Sand will continue to be Aegon Sand sadly, but not to worry I have plans for his future.**

 **As always read and review, you're the best.**

 **Cheers**

 **Manowarrior**


	5. Jon and Dany knows nothing

**Disclaimer: insert disclaimer here**

 **Winterfell:**

Ned had barely had time to dismount his horse before he was informed by Luwin of Bran's accident. His son had fallen from the broken tower and was yet to wake. To make matters even worse, a catspaw had then attempted to stab his son while he lay in bed, savagely wounding Cat's hands in the process and only Bran's direwolf had saved his wife and boy by tearing out the catspaw's throat.

Keeping up with the bad news was his friend and King Robert who had mysteriously managed to grow from one of the fittest men he had ever met into a possible kinsman (or black haired twin) of Wyman Manderly (who looked somewhat stunned himself at the near mirror image). Robert's admission that the knife used was his caused a chill to go down Ned's spine, and his fury was properly stoked as both Robert and Cat informed him that they had been unable to find the paymaster (nor the thief who stole the dagger)

He had just seated himself and bid Cat to leave him alone with Robert when his old friend who looked even more broken than he had been when Ned informed him of Lyanna's death took a seat at the other side of his desk and gazed mournfully at Ned.

"Did you think I didn't know?" he croaked sadly.

Ned felt ice shoot up his spine again as he focused his gaze on Robert. "Know what…Your Grace?" he finished haltingly.

"Seven Hells Ned stop that 'Your Grace' shit," Robert spat as he reached for a pitcher of wine that he must have brought with him. "Did you believe for one second that I wouldn't guess who the boy was when I saw him after you came back with-with Lya's body?"

Ned let out a frustrated sigh. "I thought!"

"You thought I'd kill him? Lya's boy," Robert interrupted. " _why?_ " he asked with a broken voice.

"Because of the children," Ned said finally after a moment's pause.

"I knew as long as he stayed with you that you'd never tell him the truth Ned, which is why I never did anything about the lad."

"And now?" Ned asked.

"I…I don't know any longer," Robert said. "Gods Ned he is all that is left of Lya, but at the same time…I just don't know."

"Then do nothing," Ned implored. "As long as Jon is safe I won't start any wars, and I will not help him start one either. **IF** he decides to try and take back that blasted throne he will do so without support from anyone else but the Dornish."

Anger crept over Robert's face. "There are men in every single one of the kingdoms who still call me _usurper_ , what if he gains the loyalty of the Reach? How about the Riverlands or even the Lords of the Narrow Sea? We both know that if he was to arrive at the head of an army more men would flock to him…he would only need one victory on our shores before people would flock to him in greater numbers."

"You still have time on your side Robert. If Jon was to try and get himself an army you'd know it, besides how many Lords do you think would be willing to join up with a bastard? A bastard who is widely known to have been fathered by me? It would be seen as nothing more than a Dornish plot and a bastard reaching above his station," it hurt to speak of Jon like this but Ned had precious little choice if he was to keep Jon safe.

After a minute of silence Ned finally saw the fight go out of Robert as the fat King let out a long suffering sigh. "One chance Ned," Robert said as he pointed a shaking finger at Ned. "One chance for Lya's boy, but the moment he sets sail towards Westeros with an army in tow I'll take his fucking head myself."

"Understood," Ned growled.

"Speaking of boys Ned, I have a son and you have a daughter, we'll join our houses together."

Ned winced, Robert would **not** be pleased. "Quite impossible Your Grace," he said as he held up a hand to forestall Robert's eventual tantrum. "I don't know how much you've learned while I was away, but my youngest daughter Arya…if I am lucky she snuck away with Jon and is somewhere in Essos, if not she is most likely dead."

"Shit…I-I'm sorry Ned, I knew there was trouble with the Boltons but-I'd never imagined…"

"Thank you," Ned said softly. "So as you can guess, with the Dreadfort needing new Lordship Sansa will have to stay here. My vassal Lords would not look kindly to me granting the Dreadfort to one of mine own sons, so Sansa will have to do."

"I suppose this means you will not agree to coming south to become my Hand either then?" Robert asked surly.

"There is too much that must be done here in the North Your Grace, at least for now."

Robert suddenly clapped his hands together as a smile stretched across his face. "Right, I'll be staying here to add some royal weight to your dealings," he said with a chuckle at the unintended pun. "Stannis can take care of King's Landing while I'm here," And before Ned could even start to protest Robert had jumped out of his chair and left the solar with impressive speed and grace for a man of his shape, leaving Ned to shake his head in resigned amusement. Sighing in relief as the door closed behind Robert Ned hoped dearly that Jon wouldn't do anything stupid. Things were bad enough already, and he was **not** looking forward to informing Sansa that she was to wed Ethan Forrester and move to the Dreadfort in a few years, for that matter he wasn't looking forward to telling Cat either. Opening the small cupboard on his desk he withdrew a bottle of strong alcohol that was a relic from his father and took a deep sip, coughing slightly at the taste. With his nerves now becalmed he strode out of his solar, intent on delivering news that would be welcome to either cat or Sansa.

 **City of Braavos, Essos:**

Jon watched with amusement as Arya sullenly scrubbed the floors of the house they were lodging in. Not at all pleased at having discovered his cousin sneaking with them (without telling him) nor with his lover or her sisters not informing him of it. Jon's first actions (after finding a place to stay) had been to lay down the law harshly.

Until he received word from his uncle Arya would learn the joys of hard work (and if he did say so she was a tremendous maid, her rebellious mutterings aside). Nym and her sisters had also felt some of his wrath as he had **soundly** beaten them in the practice ring, proving to them that despite being younger he was rather skilled with a blade. None of them particularly liked losing, but were competitive enough that they came back every evening, (said ladies currently licking their wounds and tending to their rather bruised egos)

"What was that dear cousin?" Jon asked.

"I believe she said that you wouldn't be enjoying yourself as much if her father was here," their host said.

Their host was a rather beautiful black haired and purple eyed woman who had been rather desperate for not only coin, but also company as she was apparently living in the modestly sized house all alone after her brother passed away, and without work the young woman (perhaps of an age or just slightly younger than himself) had agreed to offer them shelter in the return for coin, Jon offering Arya's services as a maid was icing on the cake to their host who called herself Danny. In truth Jon had been lucky to find her as they arrived rather late in the harbour, just in time as a matter of fact to see her get robbed of what were her last coins by a rather large man with a shock of bright orange hair and a faded doublet with a duck of all things on it.

"Little 'Arry' should know her father enough that she is lucky to be getting off with this punishment," Jon said as he reached out for his harp. They had decided to not mention last names for the sake of safety, so while Danny no doubt suspected them of being nobility she knew nothing more than first names (or fake first names in Arya's case)

"Oh?" she asked as she raised a curious eyebrow, and Jon was struck yet again by some strange feeling of familiarity.

"Oh yes, hours upon hours of needlework," Jon quipped, barely keeping a straight face as Arya let out an involuntary gasp. "As a matter of fact, perhaps I should see if there isn't a seamstress here in Braavos in need of her blacksmith hands," he finished, ducking his head just in time to avoid the wet rag that flew at him.

"Threatening her with needlework again lover?" came the voice of Nym who walked in from the room the pair of them shared with Aegon (Egg as they called him when Danny was around)

"Merely informing our gracious host what most likely awaits my dear cousin whenever she makes it back home."

"Oh is it time for playing already?" Tyene asked with a grin as she too came in from wherever she had been, and Jon barely kept the smirk of his face as he spotted the slight limp she sported after their earlier training session.

"I suppose so," Jon said with a shrug as he grabbed the harp and let his fingers start playing, eventually his voice joined in as well. Smiling softly as he finished the song he spotted all of them with sad smiles and sparkly eyes.

"Such a sad piece, but truly beautiful," Danny sighed.

"The tale of Danny Flint is and always will be a sad piece I think," Jon said sadly.

"You ought to take to the streets tomorrow with that I think," Obara said, even her normally harsh gaze suspiciously moist. "The gold your uncle provided will not last forever."

Jon frowned. While it was true that they did not have an infinite amount of gold they should be able to live here for near a year at least with the price that Danny demanded, although that could increase depending on the appetites of the dragons and direwolves they had with them, at least Ghost was adorable enough to distract Danny enough that she never discovered the pair of dragons they smuggled in (their veiled cages helped there) and considering how much Ghost liked her (and her fingers that knew _just_ where to scratch) she continued to be distracted.

"Ser Damon and I are going out tonight to see if there are any local sellsword companies in need of men."

"Sellswords," Nymeria frowned.

Jon shrugged. "It is the easiest way to not only good coin, but also as a chance to build a name for ourselves, something I will no doubt need as you remember," he said as he gave Nym a pointed look.

"I suppose so," she conceded

It was at that moment that Ser Damon walked in with a grin on his face. "I think I have found the perfect thing for us Jon but we better get in on this soon."

That was good news at least. Jon and the others had quickly decided that they wouldn't join any company unless they were willing to take women (Obara was most eager) or allowing for 'followers' as there was no way that Jon would agree to gallivanting all across Essos while leaving his son or lover behind. "How soon he asked."

"Tomorrow afternoon they said. They'll be going to the Iron Bank to see about a loan. With every man taking up a small loan they think we might get as many as five hundred men straight away and there are contracts aplenty just waiting."

"Explain," Tyene said.

"Well the Disputed Lands are drowning in violence. Half a dozen khalasars are ravaging back and forth, and Myr, Lys, Tyrosh and even Volantis are offering a neat sum of gold for every Dothraki screamer killed.

Jon spotted Danny wincing in pain (or horror) at the mention of the Dothraki (perhaps they were the reason her brother was dead as she never mentioned what had done him in)

"If there is as much gold in this as they hint at I suppose we can give them a meet, I am going to the bank tomorrow anyway."

"They finally agreed to meet you?" Nym asked.

Jon wasn't sure how things worked in the Iron Bank, so instead of strutting in like he owned the place and presenting the key had had been given he had instead asked for a meeting which they had granted him, but he would have to wait for three weeks, but better to wait and be safe than to tip his hand in full view of every customer in the bank.

"I suggest we all get some sleep so that we are rested properly for tomorrow, and you Arry should have been abed over an hour ago if you worked more and complained less."

It was a testament to how tired Arya was that she simply stuck out her tongue before shambling towards the room she shared with Obara and Tyene, Ser Damon had his own room while Danny naturally had the largest room to herself.

 **Iron Bank:**

Jon did his best to keep his face still as he fumed in the chair he was seated in. The meeting which was supposed to have happened shortly before noon had been 'postponed' for inexplicable reasons and he'd been shunted into a small meeting room where a pitcher of wine and a plate of fruits and cheeses were provided and then left to his own devices. That had been hours ago, but at last a weedy looking man with the most effeminate pointed beard Jon had ever seen entered.

"I am representative Garyon, what can I help you with master Snow?" he asked with a high pitched voice that cast further doubt on the man's sexual preferences.

"This," Jon said as he tossed the key onto the table and watched as the representative's eyes widened.

"You are aware of what this is master…" he finished, obviously fishing for a name.

"You will understand representative Garyon that I cannot just tell you my full name as of yet? All you need know is that a relative gave me this key, a relative who received it from his brother who was at the time King on the Iron Throne."

The man nodded slowly. "You are aware then Master Snow that the Iron Throne owes the bank a tremendous debt already?"

Jon swore. "Debt that has been accrued by Robert of the House Baratheon no doubt."

"Just so," the banker nodded, "But as it is the Iron Throne that is the symbol of rule in Westeros so it is that the Crown's debt is to the Throne, not the House that sits the Throne.

"Ahh, so then there will be no issues with my vault then," Jon said.

"I beg your pardon," the banker said.

"The vault and key in question is in the name of House Targaryen, **not** House Baratheon or the Iron Throne."

The banker blustered. "This is most irregular Master Snow."

Jon grinned. "Perhaps an arrangement could be made."

 **That** certainly got the bankers attention. "Do explain."

"You obviously do not want me to pull all the wealth my key entitles me to, and your surprise at seeing it leads me to believe that Robert Baratheon does not know of its existence, so here is what I suggest. The Iron Bank will refuse any and all further loans to the Iron Throne until the debt has been repaid. Furthermore a new key will have to be made for the Targaryen holdings in the bank, we wouldn't want anyone else to show up with another key after all. If I have not taken back the Iron Throne within a decade I will personally pay back the debt with my own coin with interest, but I will need to be able to access it to prepare for the conflict which will no doubt come."

"I must discuss this with my fellow representatives, I shall return soon," he said and then disappeared out of the room.

He eventually returned followed by five others, one of them introduced himself as Tycho Nestoris and had apparently been chosen to speak for the group. "We accept your offer, on the understanding that we will be holding the full debt as well as accrued maximum interest for the whole decade period you suggested in collateral."

Jon nodded, that sounded fair. "How much coin is available to me? In Westeros currency if you please, I am yet to be fully accustomed to Essosi currency.

"Your…ancestors made wise investments, so with the exception of the collateral you have roughly two million dragons at your disposal."

Jon goggled at the amount. "How on earth am I supposed to be carrying two million around with me?" he asked weakly.

Nestoris let out a light laugh. "You hardly need such a sum, one hundred thousand perhaps, for any immediate purchases, or salaries to be paid out to any men you gather. A representative of the bank as well as accompanying security will be following you around, not only to keep the gold safe, but also to send reports on expenditure or offer guaranties to any merchants."

"Guaranties?" Jon questioned, causing one of the other bankers to open a small wooden board that held an iron writ with the symbol of the Iron Bank as well as a drawing of his new key.

"This writ is as good as gold across Essos. Say you wish to purchase a thousand swords, the representative will provide your writ, a form that is then signed by you, the smith and or merchant and the representative will be sent back here. If the seller has an account with the bank the money will be deposited straight into his vault, or failing that will be provided to him post-haste with trusted courier…minus a small administrative fee of course."

Jon snorted. "Of course, well then I say we have an agreement."

"Excellent, representative Garyon will be accompanying you from here on Master Snow."

Jon shook hands with each of them in turn and turned to Garyon. "I will be meeting with a prospective sellsword company soon, I would like for you to be present for this meeting, after our business has been concluded I guess we'll see where we will go from there."

Garyon nodded. "Of course My Lord, after you."

 **Omake:**

 **Sometime in the future:**

Gendry was quite frankly amazed that he was still alive, and eternally grateful to Ser Davos who had provided him with a fishing rod, extra line and hooks. Just how long he had rowed around on the blasted ocean he didn't know, all he knew was that if he had to even catch a whiff of fish ever again it would be too soon. But now that he was finally standing on solid ground again he realized that he was not in Westeros any longer. People's dress was queer, he couldn't understand a lick of what they said, it was warmer than King's Landing had ever been (though thankfully without the accompanying smell of shit) and lastly for every man he spotted in fine clothing he could spot three four or even five others with collars around their necks or tattoos on their faces. And to make matters even worse his boat was slowly drifting away from him, the reason for why it was doing so was abundantly clear as he spied two brats who gave him mocking grins as they merrily rowed away from him as swift as they could.

"Well that's fucking great," he mumbled angrily.

"Are you from Westeros?" he turned his head and spotted a young man perhaps a few years his senior (though less bulky) with the most ridiculous white blond hair with faded streaks of blue in it that he had ever laid eyes on.

"Yeah I'm from Westeros," he replied.

"Thank the gods," the young man said. "I need your help."

Gendry raised an eyebrow.

"I need one more man on my ship, I can't sail it alone you see."

"I'm not really all that much acquainted with ships," Gendry said slowly. "As a matter of fact, with the exception of that bloody rowboat I spent gods know how long in I've never been on one before."

The man gaped. "You telling me you crossed the Narrow Sea on a bloody rowboat all the way to Volantis? How in the name of the gods did you do that? How the hell did you even survive?"

Gendry flushed in embarrassment. "I eh…must have rowed in the wrong direction I think, and I survived on fish and fish blood."

Despite how nasty it had been to consume raw fish for who knows how long, Gendry took a perverse pleasure at seeing the young man go green at the thought.

"That settles it then, if you can do that in a rowboat you'll be unstoppable on a ship. I have food and cargo to sell, and you don't look like you have anything so what say you?"

Somewhat amused at the young man's eagerness (and the fact that he didn't have any food, drink or coin) Gendry gave in. "Fine, fine. I'll come along, better than going back to Westeros at any rate."

The man smiled. "Great, I'm Aegon," he said as he held out his hand.

"Gendry," he replied as he gripped Aegon's hand in a shake.

Following Aegon, Gendry was further bemused as Aegon seemed to be jittery as a cat, his eyes going this way and that as if he was seeing threats in anything from doors, windows, alleyways all the way down to someone's innocent bowl of pea soup. "Something wrong?" he asked, causing Aegon to jump slightly.

"My fath… _guardian_ ," Aegon corrected himself, is trying to convince me to do something that is the last thing I want to do, so since the lot of them are searching the city for me, we'll sneak aboard the ship and sail the hell away from here."

"There she is," Aegon said suddenly, "The Shy Maid."

Gendry gazed at the ship and while he didn't know much about ships that had to be one of the ugliest ones he had ever seen. A single mast, the ship itself painted a muddy greyish brown that appeared to be flaking all over, and at the back he could just spot some golden letters that were so weathered that even if he could read he doubted it would be legible. As Aegon had said the ship was devoid of people and the pair of them made quick work of the moorings and readying the sail (with Aegon helpfully explaining along the way) and just like that the ship was heading out towards the open sea.

"So what's your story?" Aegon asked.

Gendry shrugged. "Some red woman purchased me and took me to my uncle to be sacrificed in some sort of ritual, and as if isn't enough that my uncle wants me dead the Lannisters and Gold Cloaks want me dead too."

"Damn…" Aegon said. "The hell did you do to make the Lannisters want to kill ya?"

Gendry shrugged again. "The red woman said I was the bastard son of King Robert, so that's why the Queen wants me dead apparently, and King Stannis, my uncle that is wants my blood for whatever magic his red woman performs."

Aegon stared at him dumbfounded for a few moments before breaking out into peals of laughter, "that…that's just, oh the irony," and he descended into giggles again.

"What do you mean?" Gendry asked confused (and somewhat insulted)

Aegon calmed himself to the point where he was only chuckling slightly. "I am Aegon Targaryen, smuggled out of King's Landing mere hours before Tywin Lannister sacked the city and killed my mother and sister."

Gendry winced, he had heard the stories (everyone had heard the stories) "But, that means you are the rightful King!" he exclaimed.

Aegon shook his head slightly. "Perhaps, but it would take a gods damned miracle to take back the seven kingdoms, especially after recent events."

"What recent events?" Gendry asked.

Aegon ran a hand through his hair. "Apparently I have a half brother, and an aunt, both of them have invades Westeros with their army, and between them they have six dragons…and my guardian apparently wants me to raise a force to press my own right to the throne. One dragon is bad enough, but **six** …as soon as I realized he wouldn't give up that idea I decided to make a run for it."

Gendry whistled, that _did_ sound like a spectacularly bad idea, he could almost picture it. Coming up to a pair with six dragons under their command. _'Hi there, good work conquering the seven kingdoms, but now I must ask you to step aside as I am you older brother and as such my claims comes first, oh and I'd like a dragon if it isn't too much trouble,'_ Gendry snorted. He could only imagine how ludicrous that would be. "So what will we do now then?" he asked Aegon.

Aegon threw an arm across Gendry's shoulders. "Here we are, both of us a son of Kings, and utterly fucked if we ever go back home, so I say we sail the seas and make our own luck."

"Agreed," Gendry said and then the pair sailed off into the horizon towards the setting sun toward life full of adventure (but that's another story)

 **AN: I do apologize for how long it has taken me to update (and how short this piece was for that matter) but I have been VERY busy. Now a new poll is up so please make your choices about what kind of real life army/military force Jon will be basing his new sellsword company on (he is after all the financier)**

 **Hopefully I'll be updating this much sooner next time. Also Bloody Wolf is coming along nicely at about 4.5k words so far and is not eager to stop.**

 **P.S: Kudos to whoever spots the small cameo in this chapter. And I welcome speculation about what that can mean.**


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